


In Love and War

by mahbecks



Series: Thedas in Love [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Banter, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Heterosexual Sex, Humor, Indirect Sequel, Light Angst, M/M, Possible DLC Spoilers, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:41:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn’t stop thinking about her.</p><p>It was a problem. Because Varric Tethras was used to having only one woman in his fantasies. And it sure as the fucking Void wasn’t Cassandra Pentaghast. </p><p>And now he'd unconsciously written her into a book? </p><p>Well, shit.</p><p>Indirect sequel to my other story, "All's Fair"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feralise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feralise/gifts).



> This is an indirect sequel of sorts to my other story, All's Fair. I would recommend you read that first, BUT I'll try to make everything clear as possible so you don't have to :) The events of this story occur between the end of All's Fair and its epilogue (roughly 1-2 months after defeating Corypheus).
> 
> It is indirect in that it will focus on the relationship between Cassandra and Varric. The other pairings (Cullen and Evelyn/Iron Bull and Dorian) will be largely tangential.
> 
> As it is a sequel to a story where the Inquisition events are over, there are POSSIBLE DLC spoilers. This isn't 2 years later, however, so that's not likely.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Shit.

It was a problem. Because Varric Tethras was used to having only one woman in his fantasies. And it sure as the fucking Void wasn’t Cassandra Pentaghast.

It had started innocently enough – a simple conversation over a drink. It was the way these things always tended to start. Innocuous banter, a good mug of ale, a seedy tavern… it could have been the picture perfect prologue to a new serial.

They’d been discussing how smitten Curly was with the Inquisitor, and how Tiny and Sparkler had finally gotten the courage to do something about that mutual infatuation of theirs. The Seeker had had that faraway look in her eyes, that look of utter longing that she always attempted to cover up with duty and devotion to the faith. Varric knew it well. She liked to think she was good at hiding her secrets. But she wasn’t.

People with long buried secrets tended to be particularly good at sniffing them out in others.

They had talked for what felt like hours. In hindsight, it was strange. But at the time, it had seemed natural. It had should have bothered him – this was a woman who’d hunted him down, interrogated him, and threatened him within an inch of his life.

But it hadn’t.

The Seeker could be… surprisingly pleasant when she tried, apparently. Which was the reason for his current predicament. He’d gotten used to dealing with Cassandra as a necessary evil, a thorn at his side. Now that she wasn’t…

Shit.

* * * * *

She could not stop thinking about him.

Cassandra took a swing at the training dummy in front of her, neatly slashing at where the ribs would sit on a person. Her practice sword ricocheted off the rough burlap with a dull thud, and she immediately moved into the next form. This time, her hit was at the neck, and the dummy shook with the force of her attack.

She continued the onslaught, ignoring the sweat that began to drip down her face. Good, physical exercise was the best way to deal with problems. She had discovered that a long time ago. Exertion cleared the mind and alleviated stress, allowing her to think more clearly.

She took a step back before twirling around and lunging, thrusting at the dummy in a piercing attack. Her brow furrowed as she began a complicated series of movements, recalling the drills she’d been taught when she was younger. Her arms began to protest the effort the longer she moved, and she slashed out violently in a final attack.

To her surprise, the training dummy’s head was shorn off by the blow, flying to the ground and rolling away in the direction of the Herald’s Rest. She blinked in surprise, automatically straightening.

A child, playing with her friends in the courtyard, noticed it and ran to pick it up. Her eyes flicked over to Cassandra, and she hesitated for the briefest of moments before running away, the dummy’s head tucked firm under an arm.

Cassandra snorted and moved to sit on one of the nearby benches, setting the practice sword down beside her. She knew the look that child had given her; it was fear. The child had been afraid of her. It wasn’t surprising. She knew that she could be intimidating.

She’d certainly intimidated _him_ a few times.

She huffed in irritation as her thoughts swirled back towards that infuriating dwarf. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about their conversation? It had been weeks ago, before they’d traveled to the Arbor Wilds. And it hadn’t meant anything. Nothing they had discussed had been important.

Perhaps it was what he’d said before? About how she could have her own sort of romance? Perhaps. His words had comforted her, more than they should have considering the source. She snorted then; he’d probably only told her what she’d wanted to hear. He was an unconscionable liar, after all.

No. That was unworthy of her. Varric had told lies in the past, but he wasn’t a complete scoundrel.

The sweat had cooled on her skin, and her arms no longer ached. She pushed herself to her feet and moved to a second dummy, setting her feet in the proper stance. She would be more careful this time. This was only training, not an exercise in how well she could behead inanimate objects.

She was still for a moment, centering herself. The sword was lax in her grip, the point dragging the ground at her side. She inhaled and breathed out, once, twice, three times.

And then the sword twirled up into her grasp and she lunged forward, dangerous and deadly as a snake.

* * * * *

“I miss Leliana already.”

Cassandra looked up from the war table. Evelyn was frustrated, her palms framing the Frostbacks as she leaned over the map of Thedas. The Inquisitor’s brow was drawn down, and a frown marred her otherwise lovely features.

She understood the other’s frustration. Leliana had left for Val Royeaux a mere two days ago to be proclaimed the next Divine. She had given Evelyn as much information about the spy network as possible before she’d left, and assured the Inquisitor that her successor, handpicked by Leliana herself, was more than up to the task.

But no matter how good the man was, he was not Leliana.

Evelyn sighed and pushed herself away, crossing her arms over her breasts. “I miss her too,” Cassandra commiserated.

The Inquisitor smiled at her. “At least I still have you, Cass,” she admitted. “I couldn’t have taken losing the both of you.”

She still might. They had discussed the possibility of her leaving to recreate the Seekers of Truth. She was the only Seeker of any rank left after Corypheus’ disastrous influence and Lucius’ descent into madness. But the existence of the Seekers depended on what Leliana saw fit to do with the Chantry. They would have to wait until the new Divine decided on a course of action.

“You will not lose me,” Cassandra replied firmly, nodding once in the Inquisitor’s direction. “Even if I cannot be with you, I will remain your ally.”

Evelyn snorted. “I wish I could say the same of everyone else,” she muttered. She turned to Josephine then. “Anything else to report?”

“Of course,” the Antivan replied, looking down at her writing board. “We have recently received an offer of a trade alliance with several prominent Antivan merchants.”

Cassandra tuned the rest of the conversation out. This was not her area of expertise. Across the table, she could see Commander Cullen doing the same. Well, not exactly the same. His eyes kept flicking to Evelyn, watching her out of the corners of his eyes like a guard dog. She had to suppress a snort at that; he’d been like this ever since she’d defeated Corypheus. It was as if he expected her to fall at any moment.

She was not made of glass. None of them were. War made warriors of them all - or corpses.

“Varric has returned from the Free Marches,” Josephine continued, catching Cassandra’s attention. She found herself strangely pleased at the news; she squashed the feeling immediately, scowling. “He will need your approval for the next draft of the manuscript.”

Evelyn snorted. “You mean he’s actually giving me the chance to see how much he’s exaggerated my bust size?” she asked.

Cullen made a strange, choking noise. He turned it into a cough and turned away, but Evelyn didn’t miss it. She smirked at his back before returning her gaze to Josephine.

“His publisher is requiring more… stringent editing techniques with this manuscript,” Josephine admitted, the barest hint of a smile on her lips. “Apparently, he is terrified that you will storm into his business and punish him if he publishes something… unseemly.”

“Andraste’s tits,” Evelyn muttered, shaking her head. “Why is everyone afraid of me? What did I ever do to them?”

“Well, you did crash that-”

“Rhetorical question, Josie,” Evelyn interjected.

The Antivan’s smirk grew so large she had to cover it with a hand. “As you say, Inquisitor.”

“Where is he? In his old rooms?”

“I believe so,” Josephine replied.

“I’ll go and find him as soon as we’re done here,” Evelyn said, nodding once. She turned to look at Cassandra. “No need to scowl, Cass – I’ll keep him out of your way.”

“That won’t be –” Cassandra broke off with a huff. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Varric; quite the opposite really. She found herself... yes, _wanting_ to see him. But that was strange, and she didn’t know what to make of it, so she refused to act upon it.

“I’m only teasing,” the Inquisitor said, smiling at her.

“You shouldn’t.” Cassandra couldn’t help the bite in her voice.

There was an awkward silence for a few moments as each of them waited for the others to speak. Cullen finally cleared his throat, looking over to Josephine. “I believe that is all for now, Inquisitor,” he said tentatively, “Unless you have anything else, Josephine?”

“We have covered everything I wished to speak of,” the Antivan confirmed. She shot Evelyn a smile. “I will get to work on those trade negotiations immediately.”

Evelyn nodded and adjourned the meeting, walking off with Cullen. Cassandra was left alone at the war table, staring down at the various markers on the map. There was still so much work to do… even after bringing down Corypheus, the world needed so much help. And it seemed only they were capable of offering it.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed herself away from the table and left the room. When she reached the great hall, she forced herself to not look over at the hearth where Varric had used to sit. She stalked past to the doors, intent on not peeking. She would not look, she would not look, she would not look…

She looked.

He wasn’t there.

She felt strangely deflated as she stomped down the steps to the courtyard. There was no reason for her to be feeling this way. What would she have done had he been there? Welcomed him? Struck up a conversation? Inquired as to his health? She snorted at the thought; she wasn’t very good at small talk. She was more likely to insult him than anything else, even if that wasn’t her original intent. Sometimes she couldn’t help it. The words would simply spew from her mouth, and she had no control over them.

It was a problem she had had for as long as she could remember. Her brother had told her once that she was insufferably blunt. He’d ruffled her hair and used an affectionate tone of voice, but his words had stung a little nonetheless.

She turned sharply away from the tavern towards the door that led to the garden. Her head was beginning to hurt, and she desired peace and solitude that she would not find out in the open.

It was a short walk, her brisk steps echoing off the flagstones. A few people nodded their heads at her as she passed; she returned the gesture for those that she knew.

She did not stop until she was safely ensconced behind the Chantry doors. The small room was quiet, a few other wayward souls praying upon their knees. They did not look up as Cassandra quietly found a spot to call her own. The stone was cold and hard against her knees, but she found a strange comfort in the rigid position. It was familiar, as was the penitent posture she affected as she began to mentally recite the canticles in her head.

It had been too long since she had last prayed. She deeply regretted her lack of devotion over the past several years; she had been too busy to properly attend her faith. She had forgotten how calming it could be, how it could clarify her purpose even better than exercise. The words were hypnotic in her mind, lulling her into a state not unlike a trance as she prayed for guidance.

Maker knew she needed it.

* * * * *

“Looking for someone?”

Varric looked up, away from the window he’d been staring through for the past few minutes. Dorian was standing across from him, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk upon his face. He moved to seat himself across from the dwarf, and Varric hastily shoved some of his writing materials out of the way. And away from prying eyes.

“No one in particular,” he replied easily.

Dorian snorted at that, as if he didn’t quite believe him, but said nothing.

He looked better than he had the last time Varric had seen him. Everyone did. Gone were the haggard faces and terrified upward glances that had been so common when the Breach had loomed over them. Now people laughed, chatted, sang, _danced_. Couples were everywhere, and the children were multiplying by the day, it seemed. The world was beginning to rebuild, slowly mending the cracks that Corypheus had rent in its stability.

“What can I do for you?” Varric asked, breaking the silence.

Dorian shot him an affronted look. “Must I _want_ something to come to speak with you?” he demanded. “We’re friends, are we not?”

“Sure, Sparkler,” Varric snorted. “But you have to admit, normally you _do_ want something.”

Dorian huffed. “Perhaps,” he said noncommittally. He cleared his throat, intent upon changing the topic of conversation. “So! How is Kirkwall these days? Any better?”

“Loads,” the dwarf replied. He snorted then, shaking his head. “Not that that’s saying much. There’s been a lot of problems with thieves and petty crime. Since Meredith got fossilized, no one’s had the power to mop up the streets.”

“Pity. I hear the architecture there is so lovely.”

“If you like really creepy statues hanging off vertical cliff faces, yeah,” Varric allowed.

“Kirkwall was once part of the Imperium, you know.”

“So you’ve got the creepy statues too?”

“Oh, they’re everywhere,” the mage replied, waving a hand. “Slave markets, of course, but also in places where you’d least expect them. Public toilets, for instance.”

“… there really need to be decorative statues in the places you shit?”

“It’s Tevinter, my dear dwarf,” Dorian said flatly. “We decorate _everything_.” The mage pushed himself up from the table then. “I’m going to the bar to see what vintages Cabot is hiding from me. Would you care for anything?”

“Sure. I could always use an ale.”

He looked out the window again as Dorian sauntered off in the direction of the bar. It was late afternoon, and the sunlight was streaming down into the courtyard. Golden rays were filtering through the small trees that had been planted, casting a warm, honey glow on the ground below. It was a lazy afternoon, one of those days where you were content just to be. Normally, he’d have spent such a day reading. But that would require being out in the open, and being out in the open meant that he was exposed to-

“Here you are.”

Dorian placed a frothy mug of ale in front of him, and Varric blinked, the spell broken. The mage watched him as he silently took the tankard and drank, deeply. “You seem… distracted.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Distracted?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Dorian pondered, propping his chin upon his hand. “But whatever is this about?” He cocked his head sideways then. “Is Hawke alright?”

“Shits?” Varric snorted. “Oh, he’s fine. Made it back to Kirkwall for a few days. Now he’s gone to visit his sister in the Grey Wardens.”

“I didn’t know Devon had a sister,” Dorian murmured.

“Had a brother too, once. Carver. He was killed when they fled from the darkspawn during the Blight.”

“Ah.” The mage sipped delicately from the glass of wine he had procured. “How tragic.” He frowned then, thinking over something. Varric could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “So if it’s not about Hawke, what could be troubling you?”

It seemed a rhetorical question, so Varric didn’t answer.

Nor, to be honest, did he have a good answer. He wasn’t… troubled, per say. That was a bad way to describe the feelings coursing through him. He should have been able to come up with something better; he was a writer, after all. But the words were failing him.

Cassandra tended to have that effect on a lot of people.

“Ah, well.” He shifted his gaze back to the mage, who’d sighed rather dramatically and taken another sip of wine. “I’ll get it out of you eventually!”

“If you say so, Sparkler,” Varric allowed.

“Now.” Dorian smiled at him. “I hear you’ve been working on a new story, Varric.”

Ah. Here it was. “The writer writing? Shocking.”

“Might I… have a peek?”

“… it’s not been published.”

“I know that.” Dorian huffed. “That’s why I came to you, and not a book merchant. I was hoping for a little… taste before the meal, if you follow me.”

“You just want to see how pretty I said you were.”

“Naturally.”

“Not a chance, Sparkler. This here’s for the Inquisitor’s eyes only, and then it’s going straight back to my editor.”

“Come now, Varric, be reasonable!” Dorian said. “I’m willing to make this worth your while!”

“Sparkler, are you bribing me?”

“Shamelessly.”

“How very Tevinter of you!”

“Old habits die hard.”

“So I’ve heard,” Varric snorted.

“… is that a yes?”

“Not on your life, Sparkler.”

* * * * *

It was late. Very late. Most people would have retired hours ago.

But Varric was not most people.

He sighed, shuffling through the corridors of Skyhold. His old room didn’t feel right anymore; it was as if the walls knew that he’d moved on, and disliked him for it. The chamber had felt stuffy in a way that unsettled him. He couldn’t stay there. Not at the moment, when he felt so restless.

He’d thought that a walk might ease his mind. If nothing else, he’d thought the exercise might tire him. But he’d been walking around the keep for almost an hour now, and he was no closer to sleep than he was when he’d started.

The door to the garden was slightly ajar. He paused when he came to it, listening to the slight howl of the wind as it slipped between the wood and the stone. It was cool, full of the fragrance of the medicinal herbs Evelyn had planted.

He pushed the door open and quietly stepped out.

He wasn’t alone.

Cassandra was sitting on a stone bench in the center of the garden, an open book upon her lap. But she wasn’t reading; her eyes were fixed upon a spot on the ground several feet away from her. She was lost in thought, oblivious to his presence.

She looked the same as she had when Varric had left for Kirkwall. She’d kept her black hair short, even though the fighting was largely finished; it was only practical, and the Seeker was nothing if not practical. The casual leathers that she wore even when inside the walls of Skyhold were testament to that.

Hers wasn’t a face that was conventionally pretty. She was hard planes and sharp angles where traditional feminine beauty praised the aesthetic of curves and roundness. Her nose was too sharp, her brows too arched, her eyes too piercing.

He had to give it to her though – she had a profile artists dreamed of sculpting.

He took a step towards her, foot scraping on the stone, and she looked up, startled. Her eyes snapped on his with trained precision, and the book in her lap snapped shut.

_Well, shit._

Varric chuckled, fighting the tension with humor. “Fancy meeting you here, Seeker.”

She stood; her posture was stiff and rigid, her dark eyes guarded. Still, she said nothing.

“Reading in the moonlight?” he continued. “How romantic.”

“What do you want, Varric?”

Her words were harsh, clipped. They cut like a knife.

“Nothing,” he said flatly. “Just going for a midnight stroll.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Through the gardens?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

She made that noise she was so good at making, deep in the back of her throat – it was halfway between a growl and a snort. She only made that noise on two occasions – when she was absolutely disgusted, and when her words were failing her. He found himself wishing this was an instance of the latter and not the former. He was so tired of her being disgusted with him.

That was another peculiarity. When had he started to concern himself with what the Seeker thought of him?

Cassandra moved then, clenching her hands into fists as she walked towards the door. Varric moved to the side easily, hiding a sigh under his breath, but she stopped before the open doorway. Her free hand was resting upon the handle, knuckles white with the strength of her grip.

“You were… that is…” She cleared her throat, refusing to look back at him. “You’re back.”

He was too startled to reply. Not that she gave him the time. Before he could so much as think of words, she had moved on, closing the door behind her.

He closed his open mouth, still staring at the door.

What was that about? She had sounded unsure, hesitant; it was strange. Cassandra normally spoke with such conviction, such fervor… hearing her stumble over her words was an uncommon occurrence.

He didn’t like it, mostly because he didn’t know what to make of it.

Shaking his head, he made his way into the gardens, moving towards the bench where Cassandra had been sitting just moments before. She’d left her book behind in her haste to get away from him. That stung a little to admit – she’d instantly moved to leave his presence, as if the thought of spending too much time with him repulsed her.

The thought made him a little sad, and again, he couldn’t say why.

He sighed, running a hand over his face. It was thoughts like this that were keeping him up at night. Thoughts he shouldn’t have been having, and thoughts that didn’t make any sense. Maker, but it was a good thing he couldn’t dream; otherwise, he’d have even more things to brood on.

The book was one of his, of course – his newest romance serial. Its first edition had come out just the week before. He was surprised that it was already so far south. Then again, it wasn’t that surprising – Ruffles had set up one of the most extensive trade networks he’d ever seen, and that included the Merchant’s Guild. She probably got every new product within a day of its release.

He smirked as he studied the cover. He was rather proud of this one – perhaps it was his best yet.

The woman on the cover was tall and dark, her plate mail black as pitch. She had dark hair, cut in a ragged halo around her shoulders. Self-inflicted bad haircut, of course. She was on the run from a dangerous criminal. Long hair would only get in the way. Her fierce eyes looked out upon the reader in a challenging sort of way, as if daring them to read her story. But it was a familiar sort of ferocity. He knew those eyes, though they were but an artist’s rendering of his heroine.

The smirk faded as he realized why the woman seemed familiar. The book dropped from his hands as if it had burned him, and he hastily bent to pick it up, placing it back on the stone bench.

Of course the woman was familiar to him.

It was because she was. He knew her. He would know that face anywhere.

Cassandra.

“Andraste’s flaming tits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) 
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated! :)
> 
> If you wish, follow me on tumblr: mahbecks.tumblr.com :)


	2. Chapter 2

He’d written her into a fucking story.

Shit.

Of all the stupid things to do… of all the stupid things he’d _done_ , this was perhaps one of his most egregious. The worst part was that he hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it. He preferred to be aware of his acts of stupidity, revel in them. Maybe wave as they passed him by.

But those moments catching him unawares?

Well, that was just rude.

Varric ran a hand over his face, looking down at his personal copy of _Romance in Riposte_. He’d spent most of the morning poring over it, attempting to see if the connection between the Seeker and the heroine of his serial was more than skin deep. Unfortunately, it was. Andromeda was fierce and determined, blunt and to the point. She booked no nonsense, and was more likely to attack first and ask questions later. It was how she’d survived all of her run-ins with the dangerous criminal underground of Tevinter.

It was unintentional. It had to have been. He’d never have written Cassandra into one of his novels on purpose. He valued his limbs, thank you very much. And yet…

How had such a thing happened?

She’d been on his mind of late – that much, he was willing to admit. But he’d started to work on this serial months back. Why, he’d taken the first drafts with him to Adamant! This wasn’t a brand new project.

The idea that he’d been ruminating on the Seeker for so long unsettled him. He’d always prided himself on being a pretty observant person. You didn’t last long in the Merchants Guild if you weren’t. He was good at reading people, and at catching the small clues that most would overlook. But this had caught him completely unawares.

He shook his head and pulled the book closer to him. None of that was important right now. He could beat himself up about the mistake later. What really mattered was whether or not Cassandra had figured it out. Surely she would have said something to him if she’d noticed all of the similarities? No, she couldn’t know. There was no way that she would have let that slide.

But on the off chance that she had seen the connection…

“Balls.”

* * * * *

“We’ll be leaving soon. Tomorrow, I think.”

Cassandra looked up from the table. Evelyn was staring off into the distance, spoon absently tapping her lips.

“Where are we going?”

Evelyn sighed. “That’s just it, Cass,” she said. “I don’t know. I’ve got so many messes to clean up that I don’t know where to start.” She sent Cassandra an ironic smirk. “Got any suggestions?”

Cassandra considered it for a moment, thinking back over all of the work they’d done the past few years. Most of their time had been spent in Ferelden. It had been the natural choice while they had been based in Haven. Even after the move to Skyhold, Evelyn had focused more on the Hinterlands and Crestwood than she had upon the Emerald Graves and the Exalted Plains.

It was likely a personal preference. Evelyn may have been born into the nobility, but she detested Orlais. The Empire expected her to act like a queen - a beautiful, gilded warrior queen. But that wasn’t who Evelyn was; she’d fought it with every fiber of her being. And she hated being put back into a role she’d protested all of her life. Hence, their dealings in Orlais had been scant at best. She had set up outposts and quickly delegated responsibility to men like Knight-Captain Rylen.

However, the Empire was a good deal larger than Ferelden, and it had not been united when Corypheus had ripped the sky open at the Conclave. Their outposts were few and far between, and the land in between was unchecked. Add in the civil war, and Ferelden was simply in much better shape at this point. She mentioned as much to Evelyn, and the Inquisitor pursed her lips.

“You’re probably right,” she muttered, setting her spoon down in her empty bowl. “As usual.”

“I have been wrong before,” Cassandra replied. “I was wrong about you.” And Varric, she thought to herself. You were wrong about him as well. But she didn’t mention him to Evelyn.

“We should start with the Approach,” Evelyn continued. “Cullen was finally able to spare some men to build walkways over the sulfur pits. Now we should be able to find the source of the darkspawn plaguing Rylen.”

Cassandra nodded in agreement. “It is a good plan,” she said. “I will accompany you.”

“I’ll need you,” Evelyn agreed. “And we have to take Dorian as well.” She shook her head, running a hand through her hair absently. “With Solas and Vivienne both gone, I’m rather short on mage allies.”

The Seeker scowled at the mention of the two mages who had abandoned them. To be honest, she had expected it of Solas – he had always been something of a loner, and now that the Breach was sealed, it seemed his sense of duty was satisfied. Vivienne had been more of a surprise; Cassandra would have thought that the woman would have clung to the Inquisition for as long as possible, wringing all possible benefits out of such an association. But she had jumped ship almost as soon as they’d returned from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, announcing her return to the Empress’ side.

It reeked of political opportunity seeking.

Evelyn had taken it the opposite way. She had instantly rationalized Vivienne’s absence; she’d been raised in a political climate, after all. It was Solas’ flight that had hurt her. She’d considered the elf a friend, and his lack of a proper farewell had troubled her.

“Ah, well,” Evelyn said then, breaking Cassandra’s concentration. “It can’t be helped. We’ll need one more… I wish I hadn’t sent Bull away with the Chargers. I’d much rather have him with me than patrolling the Hinterlands.” She paused then. “Do you think Varric would want to join us? For old times’ sake?”

Cassandra froze at the words. Evelyn was staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to answer. Her brows furrowed when one wasn’t immediately forthcoming.

“Yes,” she said suddenly.

“Yes…?” Evelyn prompted.

“I think he would come with us.” Her words came out all in a rush, and she hated how foolish she sounded. “If you asked him.”

Evelyn frowned. “I have to meet with Josie in a few minutes,” she said. “She mentioned something about signing those trade deals. Apparently, I have to finalize them.” She rolled her eyes. “Stupid formality, really. They know full well I haven’t read them myself. Would you go and talk to him for me?”

Cassandra had to suppress a groan. It was such a simple favor. She could not refuse.

She pushed herself to her feet and nodded once. “I will go and find him now,” she forced herself to say.

Evelyn beamed at her. “Thanks, Cass,” she breathed happily. She stood as well, pushing her dark hair behind her shoulders. “I think he’s in the tavern. Shocking, I know.”

Cassandra said nothing; they parted ways when they reached the Great Hall, Evelyn heading towards Josephine’s office, and her heading down to the courtyard. She steeled herself as she took the stairs. She wasn’t ready to talk to Varric; she hadn’t really figured out these strange feelings that sprung up in her chest whenever she thought of him.

What would she say?

She had reached the tavern, and still she had no ideas. She ducked behind a column as soon as she walked in, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her.

She would say nothing about her feelings. She would merely relay the Inquisitor’s request. That was harmless enough.

It was also evading the issue. But she ignored that, looking around the column to find him. Her eyes snapped around the room cursorily until she found him nestled in a corner booth.

He looked the same as ever.

He was writing, materials spread out around him in an arc and several empty flagons of ale pushed to the side. A few reddish blonde strands of hair were falling out of the tail he normally wore, and sweat beaded upon his brow from the heat in the room. Her heart began to thud her in chest, and she willed it to be silent. It simply beat harder in response.

He looked… good.

She ducked back around the wood as he looked up, heat flooding her cheeks. He hadn’t caught her, had he? How embarrassing that would be, to have him catch her peeping.

To her utter mortification, a low chuckle met her ears.

“Come on out, Seeker, I know you’re there.”

He’d caught her.

Scowling, Cassandra jerked herself out from behind the pillar and stalked over to where Varric was sitting. He was smirking up at her, a knowing look in his eyes. It only heightened the sense of embarrassment throbbing in her chest. She was lucky that her skin was dark enough to hide most of the blush; were she as pale as Evelyn or Leliana, her face would surely have been aflame.

“Spying, are we?” Varric shook his head. “Not really your forte, is it?”

“I was not spying!” she snapped at him.

“Oh?” He cocked his head at her. “And what were you doing, creeping around the column like that? Inspecting the wood for bugs?”

“… nothing,” she sniffed. He chuckled again.

“Sure,” he allowed. He shuffled a clumsy group of papers into a neat pile and set them to the side. “Need something? Or were you just looking for the pleasure of my company?”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. She settled for a noise that sounded something like a harrumph. “We are leaving for the Western Approach soon,” she said, cutting straight to the point. Varric looked up at her, his interest piqued. “The Inquisitor would like you to join us.”

“Me?” he repeated.

“Did I stutter?” she demanded.

He snorted at that. “No,” he muttered. “So… she wants me to come, huh?” He shook his head, a slow grin creeping onto his features. “Just like old times…”

“Are you coming or not?” Cassandra crossed her arms over her breasts, a foot threatening to tap an angry rhythm against the floor.

“Awfully impatient, aren’t we?”

He knew how flustered she was. It must have been written across her face. Or perhaps he just knew her too well.

“Of course I’ll go,” he said easily. “Wouldn’t miss it. Besides,” he added rather roguishly, “who’s gonna complain if I’m not there?”

She nodded firmly, and turned to leave, eager to get out of this awkward situation.

“Wait, Seeker.”

She froze, half-turning her head over her shoulder. Varric was… fidgeting with something. She frowned, taking a cautious step towards him. She inhaled sharply when she realized what was in his hands.

Her book. She recognized it from the dog-eared corners. She must have left it in the gardens the other night! She hadn’t even thought to take it with her she’d been so eager to escape.

“You left this in the garden the other night,” Varric said, hopping off the bench to hand it to her.

She reached forward to take it, waiting for the teasing remark about her taste in literature, the remark about how much she loved his wonderful, debaucherous writing. But it never came. The book simply passed from his hands to hers, their fingers catching as at the transfer.

Cassandra hugged it tight to her chest, at a momentary loss for words. Varric, it seemed, didn’t know what to say either. He simply stood there, staring at her with an indecipherable expression for a few moments. She was just about to turn and leave when he asked her a question.

“Do you like it?”

It was not what she’d been expecting.

“What?” she asked.

“The book,” he said quickly, motioning to the serial in her hands.

“It’s…” Varric was staring at her very intently. That was unusual; he’d never asked for her opinions on his work before. Teased her mercilessly, yes, but they’d never actually spoken about the serials. Why was he so interested now?

The truth was that she loved it. She’d never connected with a protagonist like this before; the Lady Andromeda was fierce and strong, and she didn’t back down from a fight. The Knight-Captain of _Swords & Shields_ was a good heroine, but she didn’t have the same… determination that Andromeda had, the same conviction.

But she wasn’t about to let Varric know that. Maker only knew what he’d say if he found out she actually cared about his characters and not simply the smutty deeds they performed at night.

“It’s not _Swords & Shields_,” she said finally. “But it is… decent.”

For a moment, he said nothing. And then he laughed; not a chuckle, or a snort, but a real, bona fide laugh. It was… nice, she realized. Pleasant to her ears. It set her at ease, the tension lifting from her shoulders. Unconsciously, her muscles relaxed, and she released a breath she hadn’t realized that she was holding.

“Coming from you, that’s high praise,” he replied.

“I like the Lady Andromeda,” Cassandra said, ignoring the barb. “She is a true hero.”

Varric smiled softly at her. “Glad to hear it,” he murmured.

Something about the way he was smiling at her unnerved her. It was not fright that she felt, nor was it the chill of an eerie sensation. It was peculiar… she couldn’t describe it. She felt… naked, almost, as if he could see right through her. As if he saw something that she did not. She flushed at the thought, and hastened to change the subject.

“Why did you come back?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “This and that,” he said. When she didn’t reply to that, he shifted around on his feet a little. “Work, mainly. I have to get Tits to approve the latest draft of my manuscript. Editor’s orders.”

“Is that it?” She paused, deliberating about her next question before she asked it. Did she really want to know the answer? What if it wasn’t what she wanted to hear? “Is that the only reason you came back?”

He hesitated. “I-”

“Never mind,” she huffed quickly. She could already tell that his answer wasn’t the answer she secretly wanted; she could tell it from the inflection in his voice, the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. “We are leaving tomorrow morning. Be ready at dawn.”

She spun on her heel and fled from the tavern, walking as fast as she could without looking suspicious. Her heart was pounding in her chest; she could hear it thudding in her ears. She scowled as she jerked open the door to the armory and began to climb up to her quarters.

Why was he having this effect on her? The mere thought that he might have come back for another reason had set her nerves afire. It was ridiculous. He would not come back for her. And yet…

She had hoped. She had dared to hope.

She sat down heavily on her bed and sighed. Yes, she had hoped that maybe she was not the only one whose feelings were changing. She didn’t know exactly how they were changing, or why, but she could no longer pretend that they weren’t. She no longer saw Varric as an annoyance, an impish rogue whose sole purpose in life was to spurn her. He was… a friend. And perhaps something more.

But she had seen the truth on his face back in the tavern.

And it had not been the truth she had craved.

* * * * *

“I forgot how much I hated saddles.”

Evelyn snorted, looking over at a very grumpy Varric. “Is the leather too hard for your pampered ass?” she asked innocently.

“It’s not my ass that’s in pain,” he shot back.

She chuckled at that. “We’re almost there,” she encouraged.

They had been traveling for almost a week now, and the landscape had shifted from mountains to desert. The colors too had changed; here the land was arid, reddish sand dunes stretching on for miles and miles into the distances. The trees were gone now, giant crags of sandstone jutting into the sky in their place.

The forward camp lay just ahead. She was looking forward to seeing Harding again, listening to her jokes around the fireside at night. She’d missed her small friend. Skyhold wasn’t quite the same when the vivacious dwarf was out.

“Is it just me, or is the Seeker looking even more dour than usual?”

Evelyn blinked and turned to look at Cassandra, riding just behind them. The woman did have a rather grim look on her face.

She turned to face frontwards again and sighed. “Varric, what did you do this time?” she asked.

“Me?” he demanded, sounding affronted. “What do I have to do with it?”

“Did you get into it with her yesterday?” She shook her head, not letting him answer. “I knew I should’ve just asked you to come along myself.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Tits,” he said firmly. “Nothing happened. For once, we had a… well, I wouldn’t call it ‘pleasant’, but it was a decent conversation! Nice and polite!”

“Then why does she look like that?” she asked, jerking her head back.

He snorted. “No idea.”

“… uh-huh.” She wasn’t convinced.

“I’m innocent as a new born babe.”

“You’ve _never_ been innocent,” she retorted, “even as a babe, I’d wager.”

“Alright, you’ve got me there,” he admitted. “But I swear, I have no idea why Cassandra’s in such a foul mood.”

“None at all?”

“None.”

“Maybe I should talk to her…” Evelyn took another peek at her friend; to her chagrin, Cassandra noticed her, and sent her a glare. She whipped around in her saddle. “Or not.”

“I’ll talk to her later.”

“ _You?”_

“No need to sound so startled,” he replied. “Is it that hard to picture?”

“Well…”

“I’ll be nice,” he promised. “It’s… well. I need to talk to her anyways.”

She looked askance at her friend, studying him for a minute. He looked a little unsure of something, a hint of doubt in his eyes. Was he worried about something? He was trying not to look concerned, but she could tell when he was trying to cover up his true feelings. She knew better than to ask him about it. She wouldn’t get much of a response. He was far too secretive for that.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll leave her to you.”

“If I make it to camp, that is,” he said quickly. “My ass and I can’t take much more of this.”

She snorted. “On no, you don’t,” she said quickly. “You can’t die on me now. You have to write about how gloriously my bosom heaved after I dealt Corypheus the final blow. Who else could capture the scene so eloquently?”

“Don’t ask my editor that,” he muttered. “He’s not too fond of me at the moment.”

“Well, survive this expedition, and I’ll write him a letter extolling your numerous virtues.” She winked at him.

“I appreciate the thought, Tits.” He wriggled around in the saddle a bit, a grimace on his face. “And I’ll hold you to that.

“But I make no promises.”

* * * * *

“Here.”

Evelyn startled as Cassandra deposited something in her lap. It was a book, one she’d not seen before. It looked to be one of Varric’s. “What is this?” she asked, studying the heroine. It wasn’t the latest chapter of _Swords & Shields_. The heroines were different; this one was dark where the other was fair. “ _Romance in Riposte?”_ she asked, reading the title.

“You must read it,” Cassandra said, lowering her voice. She dropped down into a crouch so that Evelyn could hear her. “It is absolutely wonderful!”

“You didn’t tell me Varric had started a new series!” Evelyn snapped, her voice accusatory. She didn’t have time to browse the book merchants’ stalls; she relied on Cassandra to find them good literature to read. Normally, the other was quite happy to oblige.

“I only just got it,” Cassandra huffed. “And I only finished reading it yesterday.”

“And it’s good?”

“It is divine,” Cassandra breathed. She sighed, placing a hand on her heart. “His best work! The character development is perfect!”

Evelyn quirked an eyebrow. “Character development?” she repeated. “Since when have we read Varric’s romance serials for character development?”

“This is different,” the other said, shaking her head. “I do not know how to describe it.”

“Huh.” Evelyn studied the book for a few more seconds before placing it in her bags. “Guess I’ll have to read it for myself.”

Satisfied, Cassandra stood up.

“Speaking of Varric, you should go and speak with him,” Evelyn said, remembering her prior conversation with the dwarf. “He said that he needed to talk to you.”

“About?” Cassandra asked sharply.

Evelyn shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

“I see.” Cassandra stalked off then without another word. Evelyn watched her go, confused. Her mood had changed very quickly, hadn’t it? The mere mention of Varric had set her on edge.

Come to think of it…

Varric had been the one to bring up Cassandra’s bad mood this afternoon. Why had he been the one to notice? The two of them weren’t close. In fact, they normally avoided each other’s company.

Her eyes narrowed in thought. Something was going on here. Something was happening between the two of them to make them act this way.

And she intended to figure out what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> I appreciate all the kind words and kudos from last chapter! You guys are great! :) 
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr! mahbecks.tumblr.com :)


	3. Chapter 3

“Here.”

Dorian looked up as Evelyn dropped the book into his lap. His hazel eyes flickered down and then back up in quick succession. “Evelyn,” he said quietly, “my dear… while I respect your opinions on this type of literature, and appreciate all of your efforts to convince me that such tripe is not utter rubbish, I regret to inform you that your attempts are all in vain.” He handed the book back to her. “I suffered enough with _Swords & Shields_. I believe I can live without…” He looked down to read the title and snorted. “ _Romance in Riposte_.”

She shook her head. “I’m not asking you to write me a book review,” she said, dropping down next to him. He turned to face her, the fire casting warm shadows across his puzzled face.

“Then pray tell, what shall I use it for?” he demanded. “Kindling? Need I remind you that I am exceptionally adept at fire magic?”

“Look at the cover,” Evelyn said firmly, ignoring his sarcastic remarks.

He sighed, but did as she asked. He studied the woman on the front for several moments until suddenly, he frowned. “This woman… there’s something about her…”

“She’s familiar, isn’t she?”

“Very much so!” Dorian agreed. “I would wager good coin that I know her…”

Evelyn nodded, happy to hear that she wasn’t the only one who’d recognized the heroine on the cover. It had taken her a while to place the woman – there were quite a few dark-haired women in Thedas, after all, and she hardly knew all of them by name. But once she’d read a few chapters, there could be no doubts.

She reached out and opened the book to a page she’d dog-eared. “Read this page,” she said, tapping the paper with a finger.

Dorian’s eyes narrowed slightly in concentration as they moved across the page. He was silent for a moment, focusing on the words before him. And then he reached the part where the Lady Andromeda began to speak. She could tell by the way his eyes widened and how his fingers clenched tight around the book.

“I must be dreaming,” he finally choked out. He looked up at Evelyn.

She smirked, having anticipated this sort of reaction. “Keep going,” she ordered. “It gets better.”

He read the next two paragraphs with ravenous eyes, utter delight sparkling in his eyes. He grinned up at her then. “Oh, this is just too much for words!” he crowed. He chuckled to himself as he shut the book and handed it back to her. “Are you sure that this isn’t the Fade?” he asked, looking around suspiciously. “Because I distinctly remember having a dream just like this once.”

She snorted. “You’re a very lucid dreamer, then,” she muttered.

“Unfortunate side effect of magical abilities,” he confirmed.

“But it’s not just me? I’m not going crazy?”

“No,” he replied sharply. “That is most definitely her.” He paused then, considering something. “Does _she_ know this?”

Evelyn shook her head, unable to help the grin that crept onto her face. “I don’t think so,” she said. “But she’s eating it up. She told me the other night how much she was enjoying the _character development_ of all things!”

Dorian barked out a laugh at that. “In one of Varric’s harlequin stories?” he demanded. “For shame!”

“I don’t know how she hasn’t noticed it,” she continued. She looked down at the book, struck once again by how eerie the resemblance was. It was obviously Cassandra – with slightly longer hair and a different set of armor. Had Varric planned it that way? The thought gave her pause, and her brows furrowed.

Why would he do something like that?

She asked Dorian as much, and the mage sat back, propping his chin up on a hand. “Hmmm… now there’s an interesting question…” He trailed off in thought.

“It has to be on purpose,” she said. “There’s no way he did this on accident.” She’d flown through the book, intent on reading the entire thing. She’d thought that the similarities were just happenstance at first, a mere coincidence. But as she’d progressed through the plot, she’d come to the conclusion that it could not be chance. There were too many similarities. It wasn’t just that Cassandra was similar to her new favorite heroine – they were legitimately the same individual with different names.

“You think so?”

She looked up at Dorian. He didn’t look convinced that that was the case. “It doesn’t make any sense,” she said, shaking her head. He hadn’t read the entire book; he hadn’t seen how deep the connection was. “I believe in chance, but not this much.”

“On the contrary,” he replied, “I think this happy accident makes a great deal of sense.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he remained silent as he picked his mug of tea up and took a delicate sip. “How so?” she pressed.

“Really, Evelyn, don’t tell me you haven’t seen it,” he clucked. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he sighed. “The way they dance around each other like caged cats in heat? Watching the two of them interact is like watching a pair of duelists – you never know which of them is going to make the first move, but you can be sure one of them will eventually strike.”

“Yes, yes, we’ve all noticed that,” she said lightly. She’d always had her suspicions – Cassandra and Varric fought like an old married couple, trading barbs and jibes with every second breath. But the majority of the time, their barbs held no bite, no real malice. Over the many months they’d spent working together, the two of them had even established a sort of caustic friendship.

“But this is different,” she continued. She tapped the book with the tip of a finger. “This isn’t just some kind of sexual tension, Dorian. He… it’s admiration.” She shook her head. “No, not even that. It’s… it’s almost adoration.”

“Truly?”

“Take it and read it for yourself,” she suggested. He opened his mouth to protest, and she held up a hand, cutting him to the quick. “I promise, it’s not like the others! You can even skip the naughty parts if you’d like!”

He sighed. “The things I do for you,” he muttered, taking the book from her. He gave it a disdainful grimace as he shoved it into his saddlebags.

“I appreciate it,” she said, smiling at her friend.

“You had better,” he threatened. “Or I will make my displeasure known!”

“I don’t doubt it,” she snorted. A glint across the campsite caught her eyes, and she looked up to see Cassandra moving into the tent the two of them shared. The light of the fire had caught her armor. “Say, Dorian…”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Do you think we should tell her?” She turned around to face the mage.

“No.” His answer was immediate and absolute.

“No?” she repeated.

“No,” he said again. “This is something Cassandra must figure out on her own. We mustn’t meddle.”

“You love meddling.”

He sighed. “I do indeed, but alas, this is not the time for that sort of thing.”

After thinking about it for a moment, she realized she agreed with him. They had no idea how Cassandra would react if they were to tell her the truth. Perhaps the reaction would be positive, but it could be highly negative. And she didn’t want to take that chance. She wasn’t going to ruin whatever was blossoming between her two friends.

“Now.” Dorian pushed himself to his feet, saddlebags in hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I have some reading to do. Good night, Evelyn.” He smiled at her and headed for his tent.

“Good night,” she replied faintly.

It was high time that she found her own bedroll and tucked down for the night. She pushed herself to her feet, the weariness she had forgotten in her excitement returning in full force. It had been a long day’s journey from the forward camp to their outpost overlooking the ravine, and her body ached. Luckily, they would make it to the keep tomorrow, assuming they kept this pace.

She crawled into the tent and began removing her leathers, trying to stifle any noise that she made. Her friend was already turned on her side, her eyes closed, and she didn’t want to wake her. Cassandra was a terrible grouch when she was unexpectedly awoken.

“What did the mage want?”

Evelyn paused in taking off her boots. Well, maybe the other woman wasn’t asleep after all. “Nothing,” she replied.

“You gave him the book.” Cassandra’s tone was curious, but she wasn’t asking a question.

“Yes,” Evelyn replied slowly, “I did.”

“Why?”

“He, ah, wanted to read it.”

Cassandra snorted. “It is wasted on him,” she said flatly. “He does not appreciate true art.”

Evelyn had to suppress a laugh. Oh, what Dorian would say if he could hear that! She wagered he’d whip up a counterargument in no time. “Don’t tell him that,” she advised.

“I hope he reads it quickly. I would like to have it back.”

“Didn’t you just finish it the other day?” Evelyn asked, slipping into her bedroll. The blankets were cool from the desert night air, and she sighed contentedly as she snuggled in. It wasn’t the same as the bed she shared with Cullen back in Skyhold, but it would do for now.

“I want to reread it.”

Evelyn smirked, grateful for the darkness. “You really like this one, don’t you?” she asked.

“Tease me all you like,” Cassandra sniffed, “It will not change my opinion.”

“Of course not,” Evelyn said.

“Good night.”

She smiled into the darkness.“Good night, Cassandra.”

* * * * *

“I don’t like this.”

For once, Cassandra had to agree with Varric. She disliked this place. The entire ruin was eerie; she could sense that terrible things had happened here before, her intuition confirmed by the dead slaves in the lower level. It didn’t help that the place was crawling with darkspawn. Dorian had worked at sealing all of the holes they came across, but she still felt uneasy. She found herself watching her back, fearing some of the foul creatures would rush them from behind.

“We must press forward,” she replied, gripping her sword a little more firmly in her hand.

“We should be almost to the other side,” Evelyn said quietly, leading their small group with cautious steps. A sudden thud shook the building then, debris and pebbles crackling in its wake. The Inquisitor frowned. “Those noises are getting louder.”

“What could be making them?” Cassandra asked. She did not like creatures that were large enough to make the very ground shake with their movements. Every example she had met thus far had been most unpleasant.

“Sure you wanna know the answer to that question?” Varric snorted. She shot him an annoyed look, and he chuckled.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Evelyn replied grimly. “Come on.” She walked over to the large door at the end of the hallway; light was peeping in from the bottom, and the sounds of battle were louder here. She took a breath before pushing the doors wide, revealing what had once probably been a lovely courtyard. It was now overgrown with scrub grass and filled with sand, as ruinous as the rest of the complex.

And in the middle, a giant was fighting several men from Tevinter.

Cassandra scowled as she ran into the courtyard.

She _hated_ giants.

Evelyn and Varric ran to opposite sides of the courtyard, nocking arrows as they went, while she rushed in to harry the beast’s legs. At the moment, it was preoccupied with the Tevinter hacking at its feet; she used that to her advantage, timing her blow just right so that her sword slashed at the creature’s knees.

It roared in pain and reached down to smack her. She nimbly rolled out of its grasp, jumping up into a low crouch as soon as she out of its reach. The other soldier wasn’t so lucky; in its rage, the giant stepped on him, crushing him with a horrid squelching sound.

She felt the cool, tingling sensation of magic, and looked over to Dorian. He had cast barriers over them all as a precautionary measure. She nodded once in appreciation before running back into the fray, ducking low to hack at its ankles. It was quicker than it looked; she had to dodge its grasping fingers between every other attack to avoid being caught.

Evelyn and Varric were peppering the thing with arrows, taking the time to aim and make their shots count. Dorian was doing much the same thing with his fireballs, blasting the thing with heat.

“Look out!”

Cassandra dodged automatically, trusting Varric’s advice. It was a good thing too – no sooner had she jumped back than the giant leapt forward, the ground quaking in protest. The movement made a section of the wall come crumbling down, and she stumbled over the debris as she made her way to its flank. She managed a quick jab into its flesh before it retreated, dark blood spurting onto the ground.

The thing was tiring. It was not used to taking on four enemies of their caliber. Its enormous, ugly head kept swinging back and forth, unsure which of them to attack. Finally its beady eyes settled on Dorian, and it lunged forward to grab him. The mage scrambled away from the creature, but the giant had him pinned in a corner. It swept him away with a flick of its hand, and Dorian hit the wall behind him, breath driven from his lungs.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he wheezed.

“Dorian!” Evelyn cried out. Two arrows sank into the creature’s bank in quick succession. It roared angrily in protest. “Take that, you flaming shit!”

Cassandra took the opportunity to rush in, her sword rending a gash in the giant’s thigh. At the same time, Varric ran up close to shoot the thing in the face, his crossbow’s bolt plunging deep into the monster’s maw.

“Bring it down!” Cassandra yelled, cutting it again before dodging another sweep of its hand.

Dorian was on his feet again, his eyes cold and dangerous; a thin trickle of blood ran down the side of his face, but he ignored it as he began to cast a spell. Cassandra recognized the magic immediately as a fire mine and leapt back to get out of its path. Varric did the same, throwing himself to the ground just as the mine went off and the giant went up in flames. It screamed in wrath at them for several long moments but finally succumbed, falling on its face with a dull thud that shook the courtyard.

Cassandra sheathed her sword cautiously, eyes sweeping over the rest of the area to make sure no other enemies were lying in wait. For the moment, they seemed to be alone. Good.

Evelyn was fussing over Dorian, insisting on putting a bandage on the cut on his head. The mage had a petulant expression on his face, but he wasn’t resisting.

“You alright?”

Cassandra looked down at Varric. The dwarf was looking over his crossbow, but she could tell he was sneaking a glance at her. “I am fine,” she said firmly.

“Don't give me that look,” he said defensively. He strapped the weapon onto his back and gave her his full attention. “You faced the brunt of its attacks.”

“It did not land a hit on me,” she insisted.

“Maybe it was scared of you,” he offered, mouth turning up in a wry smirk.

She snorted derisively at that and walked over to where Evelyn and Dorian were.

“I assure you, my dear, I am fine,” the mage said. “It’s just a flesh wound!”

“Then why is it bleeding so much?”

“It’s a head wound, Evelyn. They always bleed this much.”

Evelyn wrinkled her nose, but stepped back just the same. “Fine,” she muttered, placing her hands on her hips. “Have it your way. But if you start to feel dizzy, you had best speak up!”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

“Are you two finished?” Cassandra demanded. “I would prefer not to linger here.”

Evelyn shot her a sheepish look before nodding, leading them out of the courtyard through a set of doors to the left. It led into a small plaza, steps leading up and out of the ruins and into the desert. Another giant and more Tevinter soldiers were waiting for them. Reluctantly, they joined the fight, clearing out the area; it was more difficult than the first fight, fatigue slowing their movements. Cassandra took a nasty cut to the thigh, and Varric was nearly crushed by a rock the giant threw at him.

But eventually the creature fell. Cassandra leaned heavily on her sword, panting to regain her breath. Her arms were leaden, muscles screaming in protest when she hefted her shield up to its normal position on her back.

“Andraste’s tits, how many of these damn giants are there?” Varric demanded, toeing the creature’s shoulder.

“Too many,” Evelyn replied grimly. She wiped the sweat from her brow, staring down at the giant’s corpse. “Any loot?”

Varric knelt down to get a closer look. Seeing something, he reached a hand down; several moments later, he procured a small pouch of coins and several worn knives. “Any takers?” he asked, brandishing the knives.

“We’ll take them to Harding,” Evelyn said, stepping forward to take the knives. “She’ll find a use for them.” She placed them carefully in her bag, and then pointed to the coin purse. “How much?”

Varric hefted the bag in his palm. “Few silvers, more coppers,” he assessed. He handed the bag to the Inquisitor. “Nothing much.”

She nodded and put that in her bag as well before straightening and looking at their surroundings. “We should find a place to make camp,” she said. “I don’t want to get caught by anything else before I get a chance for a few hours of sleep.”

“We could camp in the plaza back there,” Dorian said, motioning towards the entrance to the ruins. “It would be easy enough to bar the doors, and it’s out of the open.”

Evelyn nodded and led them back towards the ruins. They set their bags down against the columns and quickly set up a makeshift camp; Cassandra worked with her to set up the tents while Dorian started a fire. Varric, a surprisingly decent cook, began to prepare some food for them; he kept a watchful eye on the mage the entire time.

He was like that with everyone. Always watching, ever cautious. It had unnerved her at first. But all of the time they had spent traveling together had inured her to it. It was just a habit that he’d picked up over the years, much the same as the way she instantly scanned a battlefield for enemies.

He left the fireside as Evelyn went to check on Dorian’s wound. He was limping slightly, a grimace on his face. She frowned at that, not having noticed it before.

“You’re limping,” she said bluntly.

He looked up at her and shrugged. “Fell on my ankle weird when I dodged that boulder,” he replied.

“Did you sprain it?”

He shrugged again, sitting himself down before the tent he and Dorian would share. He moved to unlace his boot, fingers rapidly moving through the laces. He winced as he pulled the shoe off his foot, revealing the purpled flesh beneath. “That’s definitely a sprain,” he confirmed, poking the swollen ankle experimentally.

“Don’t touch it!” Cassandra snapped. He looked up at her, surprised. She flushed a little, crossing her arms over her chest in embarrassment. “You will only make it worse.”

“I’m just assessing the damage.”

She huffed and went to retrieve her bags from her own tent. What did the idiot think he was doing? Poking an injury was never a good idea! She rummaged around for a while until she found what she was looking for – a stack of poultices wrapped in fabric. She pulled one out and brought it over to Varric.

“Here.”

He took it hesitantly. She scowled at him; did he think it was poison? “It is a poultice,” she snapped. “Warm it up and then put it on your ankle.”

“I know how to use one.”

She turned away before she could snap at him again, beginning to unbuckle the straps of her armor. She laid it just outside the tent; it was still spattered with the blood of both darkspawn and giants. She would need to clean it before it corroded.

“Thank you.”

Cassandra paused. She turned to look at Varric, her breastplate in hand.

“For this.” Varric held up the poultice for clarification before forcing himself to his feet. He winced again as he put his weight on the injured foot. “It’ll help.”

He’d never thanked her before. She’d done precious little to him that was worthy of thanks. The words were good to hear, and the small smile he sent her made her heart do that strange, fluttering thing again.

“This is the part where you say ‘You’re welcome’.”

His smile had morphed into a smirk now, correctly interpreting her silence for what it was – confusion.

She scowled. Of course he would ruin the moment.

“You’re welcome,” she snarled.

“Your face will get stuck that way if you keep making that face,” he replied nonchalantly.

“What way?” she demanded, eyes narrowing.

“I’ve seen dragons that were less intimidating.”

“Varric!”

“I’m just saying – you should smile more often! It wouldn’t hurt!” He shrugged. “You have a nice smile!” He turned away before she could berate him further, heading to the fire to warm the poultice.

Cassandra stormed into her tent, letting the flaps close behind her. She sat down angrily, pulling her bracers and pauldrons off in rapid succession before she began to scour them. More intimidating than dragons. Scaring giants. She snorted at the thought. Clearly, Varric hadn’t seen enough monsters in his lifetime. She was nowhere _near_ that intimidating.

Was she?

She pushed the thought from her head as she grabbed for her breastplate. Another soon took its place, however, and she paused, hands going slack.

_You have a nice smile._

He had said that.

Varric had said that. To her.

She had a nice smile.

She clutched the rag in her hand tight, a warm feeling spreading throughout her body. She couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face then, tentative at first, then strong and bold. It shouldn’t have made her as happy as it did; it wasn’t even a very bold compliment. It could have just been a friendly little offhand comment to distract her.

But it didn’t matter.

Because Cassandra Pentaghast had a nice smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know not a lot happens this chapter. Sorry! But thanks for reading! :)
> 
> Feedback? I'd love to hear what you think! :)


	4. Chapter 4

“How is your ankle?”

Varric looked over to the Seeker, surprised to hear the question from her. Tits? He expected her to ask that type of question; she was always worried over her brood. But the Seeker?

Well, Cassandra had never been the nursing type.

“It’s seen better days,” he replied.

“Have you been taking care of it?”

“Nah, I figured I’d run around on it, really try to tear those tendons,” he snorted.

She made an annoyed sound and looked away.

He shouldn’t have said that. He knew better. The Seeker had never responded well to sarcasm or witty repartee. She liked her answers straight and simple. But part of the appeal was her reactions; she was so predictable. Sometimes he couldn’t help but bait her.

“You should try and stay off it as much as possible.”

He blinked. “I’ve not _really_ been running around, you know,” he muttered.

And he hadn’t. Dorian had done what he could to help with his ankle’s swelling, but the mage wasn’t a healer. So Varric had sat down when he could and rested his weight on his good leg when he had to stand. Now that they were heading back to Skyhold, it wasn’t as much of an issue. He could simply stay on his pony until they got back.

He would have to leave again soon after they got back. He had probably already made a mistake in agreeing to go on this adventure to the desert. The tale of the Inquisition’s triumph over Corypheus was in high demand, and if he didn’t finish the damn book soon, some hack was likely to write their own version. And that just wouldn’t do – no one else had the insight into Tit’s motives, or the relationships between her companions. He was convinced that no one else could do the story justice.

“Have you been writing lately?”

Varric was drawn from his thoughts by Cassandra’s question. “All the time,” he replied without thinking.

“Do you… that is, do you work on multiple projects at the same time?” she asked.

He gave her a sly grin. “Are you asking if I’ve been working on my romance serials?”

She flushed. “Yes.” To her credit, she did not hesitate and her voice did not waver.

“Why, Seeker, your devotion is so precious.”

“I-!” She cut off angrily, pursing her lips. “Answer the question.”

“Which serial?”

“Any of them.”

“I’m done with _Swords & Shields_,” he replied. “The final chapters will be released throughout the rest of the year.”

“I trust you have sufficiently tortured the Knight-Captain?”

He sighed. “Seeker, please, I don’t _torture_ my characters.”

“She was falsely accused! And then you-”

“I’m unkind to my characters. There’s a difference. No one wants to read a story where everyone is happy all of the time. It’s boring!”

“I would not find it boring,” she huffed.

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh? So you’d like a story where the worst thing that ever happened was a bad haircut? A stubbed toe? The dog trampling mud into the carpets?”

“Yes.” She stubbornly raised her chin, daring him to defy her.

He dared.

“You’re shitting me,” he snorted. “You love drama as much as the next person. Admit it.”

“I do not!”

“Sure you do! It’s what keeps you turning the page - you’re intrigued to find out what happens next!” He shook his head. “That doesn’t happen in a kid’s book. The kids like the book because it’s happy and the pictures are cute, not because they like the story.”

“And how would you know?” Cassandra demanded. “Do you know any children?”

“What?”

“Have you met any children? Talked to them, read them stories?”

“Well, no, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what they like,” he insisted.

“Some people like happy endings, Varric.” She turned away from him then.

He stared at her for a moment, considering her words. She was right – some people did like happy endings. And he normally had his serials end on a happy note – too much death and dishonor was depressing. But that wasn’t the way life was. Life didn’t always have a happy ending.

It was odd, really. The people who most deserved the happy endings were often the least likely to get them. And the people who deserved unhappiness often received far more than they should have. It was a troubling thought.

“Let me ask you something, Seeker.” Cassandra looked at him again. “How do you think this ends?”

“This?” she repeated.

“This,” he said, motioning around them. “The Inquisition.”

“Does it?” she asked. She sighed. “I am not sure that this will ever end. At least, not in our lifetimes.”

“But how do you think it will end?” he persisted. “Happily? Badly? Somewhere in between?”

“I would like to think that for all the work we have done, this will end well,” she said slowly.

“There’s a ‘but’ buried in there somewhere.”

She sighed. “But… I do not know. It is too soon to tell.”

“See? You can’t give me a straight answer,” he remarked. “Happy endings are all well and good, but they don’t happen a lot.”

“But is it so wrong to have fictional stories end well?” she asked. “I do not read stories because they are realistic, Varric. I read stories because they are different from what I see in my life. They are stories. Not true. Sometimes… I like the lies.”

Literature had always been a form of escapism. Varric knew that; initially, that had been what attracted him to books. But to hear Cassandra, a woman who had joined an order literally called the Seekers of Truth, say that? He didn’t have a comeback to that.

And so he retorted with humor. “Come now, Cassandra, don’t lie to me. You just like the smutty parts.”

“I… will not deny that.”

They did not speak again until their party had stopped for the night.

Varric had agreed to take the first watch; he couldn’t sleep anyways because of his ankle. It was a dull, steady ache, the kind that was just painful enough to be annoying. He figured that if he was going to be kept awake, he might as least make himself useful. Dorian and Tits had gone to sleep almost immediately after they had finished eating.

But Cassandra was still sitting by the fire. She was reading. He peered a little closer and discovered it was his new romance serial; was she rereading it then? She must have been; she was too voracious of a reader to have not finished the chapter by now.

“What do you like about Andromeda?”

The question left his mouth before he’d registered that he’d spoken. Cassandra looked up at him, surprised at being addressed. It took her several moments to answer him.

“She is… strong. She sees what must be done, and does not falter. The consequences do not sway her from a necessary course of action. But she is not without mercy or compassion. She has faith, but she is not too stubborn to see that she can be wrong.”

“Yeah…”

“You do not agree?”

“Oh, no. I agree.” He snorted. “Sounds like you know her better than I do.”

“She… reminds me of someone.” Cassandra looked down at the book in her hands then, as if she were embarrassed to have admitted that.

Varric swallowed the fear rising in his throat, instantly preparing several excuses as to why it wasn’t the case, as to why Andromeda wasn’t Cassandra, as to why –

“She reminds me of Evelyn.”

All of the air left his lungs at once. “Tits?”

“ _Evelyn_ ,” Cassandra snapped, refusing to use Varric’s nickname for the Inquisitor. She paused a moment before continuing. “Did you… did you base Andromeda off her?”

“No!” He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “I would never do such a thing!” He frowned. “You really think the two of them are alike?”

“Yes,” she nodded emphatically. “I have told Evelyn as much, but she laughed at me.”

Varric snorted to hide his discomfort. The Inquisitor had read the damn serial too, then? That could be dangerous; Tits was a good deal more intuitive than Cassandra. She might have guessed something that the Seeker had not. He would need to have a talk with her later. Assess the damage.

“Andromeda isn’t Evelyn,” he said flatly.

The Seeker blinked at him. “Is she someone?” she asked.

“Cassandra, it would be entirely unethical for me to write one of my friends into a book against their will,” he teased.

Not that that had stopped him from doing it.

The Seeker snorted. “I would think ethics are the least of your concerns, Varric.”

“Hey now, I’m not as much of a scumbag as you think I am!” he protested. “I have redeeming qualities!”

“I… suppose.” The words surprised him, left his mind blank. Cassandra flushed as he regarded her, and looked down at her book again. “One or two.”

“High praise, coming from you. You’ve got a few good quirks yourself, Seeker.”

She stood up in a hurry. “I am going to my tent.” She hesitated, the flames making her armor shine a bright orange. “Good night.” She rushed off without another word, cheeks still red from before. Was she embarrassed? Unlikely. What was there to be embarrassed about? She’d not said anything strange.

Was she…

No. That couldn’t be true. She couldn’t be… pleased, could she? Could his words have that sort of effect on her?

He snorted. Of course his words affected her. She devoured his novels like they were candy, eating up everything that he wrote. She even liked the bad ones he’d just written for a bit of extra coin.

But why would she blush?

“Scared her off, did you?”

Varric turned to see the Inquisitor standing behind him, arms crossed over her breasts and a wry smile tugging at her lips. She moved to join him by the fire, taking a seat on the log as he scooted over to make room.

“She say that?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “But she didn’t have to. Cassandra’s pretty easy to read.”

“She used to be,” he agreed. “Now… it’s a little more difficult.”

“And why is that?”

“Andraste’s tits, I couldn’t tell you if I tried.”

They shared a companionable silence for a few moments. The Inquisitor added another log to the fire and stoked it with a stick, sending a shower of sparks into the air. She’d changed into her leathers, Varric noticed; it meant she either hadn’t been truly asleep, or she’d awoken and planned to relieve him of the watch. He wondered absently which it was.

“I read your book,” she announced quietly. She turned to look at him. “ _Romance in Riposte_.”

“Cassandra force it on you?” he asked, grinning.

She returned the smile. “Of course she did,” she replied. “She couldn’t help herself.” She took a deep breath. “She really likes that one, you know. She told me it’s her favorite. And not just for the lurid content.” She snorted then, shaking her head. “She’s enjoying the character development.”

“Character development?” he repeated. “Now how’d that get in there?”

“Probably the same way Cassandra got in there,” she said pointedly.

So she knew. His suspicions were confirmed. Well, that was one uncomfortable conversation he'd gotten out of having to start. It wasn’t surprising that she'd come to the truth; part of the reason she’d done so well as the Inquisitor was because she was good at reading people and reacting to them. Of course she’d had seen the similarities between Andromeda and Cassandra.

“The Seeker thinks it’s you.”

“ _What?”_ Tits asked sharply. She laughed then. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, she’s quite convinced, despite the fact that I’m writing an actual biography about you,” he continued. “Thanks for approving the manuscript, by the way. You’ve made my editor a happy man.”

She smiled at him. “I couldn’t find a single fault with it,” she remarked. She chuckled. “Well, there was a lot of me swooning over Cullen, but I’ll forgive you for that. Everyone wants to read a good love story.”

“Curly’s pretty swoonworthy. At least you picked a good one. Just… be careful with him. He’s still hurting. Time doesn’t heal all wounds.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she said quietly. She looked down at her hand then, the one that bore the mark, and clenched it into a fist. When she looked up, her expression was much more serious. “Why did you do it, Varric?”

He knew immediately what she was talking about. “Nug shit if I know,” he muttered.

“You can’t expect me to believe it was an accident,” she said flatly.

“It was!” he said, throwing his hands up. “I don’t have any explanation other than that! It just kind of… happened!”

“When did you realize it?”

“When I got back to Skyhold,” he replied. “I saw Cassandra reading it in the gardens one night. She ran away from me before I could talk to her. Left the book behind. I went to see what she’d been reading, and I… I guess it hit me. It was that damn cover art that did it. Seeing them back-to-back like that. They’re the same person.”

“You sound very… fond of her,” Tits said slowly. “In the book.”

“There’s a lot good things about the Seeker,” he admitted. “A lot of things. She’s easy to admire. Maybe not easy to like, but she does demand some respect.”

“I picked up a little more than respect, Varric.” The Inquisitor’s tone was slightly reproachful, her eyes piercing.

He schooled his face into a careful mask of curiosity, revealing none of his true feelings on the matter. He trusted Tits with his life – but she was also one of Cassandra’s dearest friends, perhaps the Seeker’s only true friend, and women tended to be thicker than thieves in matters of romance. Bianca had once –

Bianca.

He’d not thought of her in days. No, weeks. That was… unusual. He normally thought of her all the time – remembering her, cursing her, loving her, hating her. It was her face that he had seen in his fantasies, and her name that he wrote on secretive, coded letters. But in the months since the raid on Valammar, he’d almost forgotten all about her. Another woman had invaded his mind. And her name was -

“Varric?”

The Inquisitor’s voice drew him from his thoughts. She was watching him expectantly, brows furrowed. “I don’t what to tell you, Tits,” he said automatically, voice carefully neutral. He’d forgotten what she’d last said to him. He hoped that was a satisfactory answer.

She sighed but didn’t immediately say anything, so he assumed it was. “You’re so evasive,” she muttered.

“I have to keep some secrets for me,” he replied.

She looked over at him then and studied his face for a moment. Then she gave in and smiled. “I think we all do,” she said. The tension between them eased, and she sat up a little straighter. “I’ll take the watch from here. You go and get some sleep.”

He nodded, rising to his feet with a soft grunt of pain. Immediately, he shifted his weight to alleviate the pressure in his ankle.

She caught his hand just as he made to leave the fireside.

“Don’t wait forever to tell her, Varric,” she murmured. “She deserves to know the truth.”

“I think she’ll figure out who Andromeda is eventually,” he said easily. “And I plan to be far, far away when she does.”

“That’s not the truth I meant,” she said. She let go of his hand then and looked away, staring into the fire.

Varric turned and made for his tent, footsteps quiet on the shifting sand. Dorian was already asleep, so he tried to get ready for bed as quickly as possible. The blankets were cool when he finally climbed into them, a welcome sensation for his throbbing ankle.

Tits was right, of course. Cassandra deserved to know the truth.

But what truth was that? What would he tell her? That he’d written her into a book because he deeply admired her? That he greatly respected her? That he found her incredibly beautiful? Those were all true, but they didn’t get to the heart of the matter. They were only symptoms of a bigger problem, one he’d been avoiding for months now. And that was the part for which the words simply would not come.

The part where he admitted to her, and himself, that he was falling in love again.

With the wrong woman.

* * * * *

“You’re leaving.”

Varric looked up; Cassandra’s brown eyes were almost accusatory, and it startled him. His surprise lasted only a moment, and then he placed a smirk on his face. “Duty calls,” he replied. “Don’t worry though – we’ve still got a few days before we get back to Skyhold. You still have plenty of time to throw things at me.”

“You only just arrived!”

“I needed the Inquisitor’s approval of my manuscript,” he said. “I have to get back to Kirkwall, as soon as possible, or my editor will kill me. And then he’ll get some necromancer to raise me from the dead so I can finish the damn book.”

The Seeker huffed and sat down in the lone chair in the room. They were staying at an inn on the outskirts of Val Royeaux; Tits had some shopping to do that could only be done in the large Orlesian city, and Dorian had naturally gone with her. Varric had opted out of the excursion, not wanting to be on his feet all day, and Cassandra had declined as well. It meant the two of them had been cloistered together since the morning.

For a while, they’d been getting along. Cassandra had honed her sword and then thoroughly cleaned her armor. He’d written a few letters and darned a hole in his favorite pair of socks. And then she’d asked him what his plans were upon returning to Skyhold. He’d told her the truth – and she’d reacted unexpectedly.

“Why do you care if I leave, anyways?” he asked. “Wasn’t it you who told me I was an unwelcome intrusion upon the glory of the Inquisition?”

“That was before,” she huffed, shaking her head.

“Before what?”

“Before you -!” She broke off with a strangled noise, staring angrily into the fire. “Before you proved your worth. Before you dedicated yourself to this cause, despite how I dragged you into this mess.” She shook her head. “You are a worthy ally, Varric. Evelyn has lost many allies since defeating Corypheus. I do not want her to lose you too.”

That was bullshit, and he called her on it. She looked up at him with wide eyes, too surprised to give an angry retort. “You know I write Tits every other day,” he snapped. “She’s not going to lose me! Why do you think I’m going to go crawl in a hole and never come out?”

“I do not think that!”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me!”

He stalked off to where his bags were sitting against the far wall and grabbed his boots. The mood in the room had darkened considerably in the past few minutes, and he was ready to get away. He had to see his letters off anyways.

“I do not want you to leave.”

He paused, halfway to the door. The Seeker’s cheeks were flaming. Her hands were clenched together in front of her, her knuckles white from the strain. She caught his eyes then, and her blush deepened. But she didn’t look away.

“You don’t want me to leave,” he said flatly.

“I… do not.”

He chuckled, looking down at the ground. “Sweet Andraste,” he breathed. He was at a loss for words. He didn’t know how to react. He’d been prepared for her to say many things, but he hadn’t been prepared for _that_. One part of him, buried deep inside him, was joyous at the revelation. Another part of him was terrified, and yet another part of him was suspicious. She made him nervous; perhaps it was because of their dicey past. Perhaps it was because she could shred him to pieces if she set her mind to it.

“Why?”

Now it was Cassandra’s turn to shift uncomfortably in her chair. “I cannot say,” she replied.

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

“I _cannot_ say,” she said, more firmly this time, standing up.

He threw his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness. “Well, shit,” he said flatly.

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed. “Shit.”

It was perhaps the first time he’d ever heard her curse. It sounded odd on her tongue, like a word in a different language that she couldn't quite pronounce properly.

“I have been thinking, since the final battle at the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” she continued. “About many things.” She looked at him briefly and then turned away. “And certain… people.”

He took a step to the side so that he could still see her face. “Anyone in particular?” he asked.

“One,” she said, nodding. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Just one.”

He didn’t draw away when she reached out a hand towards him. She was hesitant, unsure of herself, and if he wanted, he could push her away then and there and that would be the end of that. But he didn’t. He did not dare draw away now, not when she had moved so close to him.

The last time she’d been this close, she’d been interrogating him about Hawke.

But this was entirely different.

“When you came back from Kirkwall, I thought…” She shook her head. “It was foolish of me. But I thought that perhaps you came back to see me.”

“Why would you think that?” It sounded harsher than he meant, and he rushed into another sentence without thinking to rectify it. “Why would you want that?”

“I do not know,” she huffed, brows snapping down into a scowl. “It was just…” She took a deep breath and blew it out before continuing. “After our last conversation at Skyhold, in the tavern… I thought…” She grunted in disgust and made to turn away, giving up on the conversation. "Never mind. This is foolish."

He wasn’t having that.

He caught her hand before she could walk away. “You weren’t wrong,” he said. She stared at him. “I felt it too.”

“But I-”

“Something happened,” he cut her off. “Something changed then. I don’t know what it was, but I felt it the same as you.”

“I… do not know what to say, Varric.”

“Does anyone ever know what to say in situations like this?” He quirked an eyebrow at her, a little smirk on his lips as he tried to lighten the charged atmosphere between them. “I don’t think so. I think you just have to wing it.”

“Wing it?” she repeated, suspicious.

"What do you  _feel_ like doing?"

She inhaled sharply, taking a step closer to him. He could smell her now - the sharp, clean scent of her utilitarian soap, and the smell of the leathers she wore. There was something else underneath it, a delicate undertone that he couldn't quite place. It was floral. 

"I-"

The door swung open then and Cassandra leapt back, drawing her hand from him as if she’d been burned. Dorian and the Inquisitor burst into the room, several wrapped packages in their arms.

“Friends!” Dorian cried. “I have returned! With gifts!” He thrust a package into Cassandra’s hands; she took it, numbly staring down at the brown paper wrapping. “You’re welcome.”

“Why did you buy me a present?” the Seeker asked warily. “It is not my naming day.”

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport,” the mage sighed. He tossed a smaller package to Varric. “I was feeling generous!”

Varric passed the package around in his hands a few times while Dorian started laying out his other purchases on the bed, muttering to himself about their recipients. Cassandra took her gift and stormed out of the room, not giving him a second glance. The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow at that, walking over to Varric. “What’s going on here?” she asked.

He shrugged, again left without an answer.

“Don’t tell me it was nothing,” she said warningly. She crossed her arms over her breasts and jutted out a hip stubbornly. “That was most definitely not nothing.”

“Oh, it was something alright,” Varric agreed.

“…and?”

“And nothing. I couldn’t tell you what that was if I tried.”

“You, at a loss for words? Well, that’s a first.”

He snorted.

If only she knew the half of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving along the plot, moving along the plot :)
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always! You guys are great! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay on getting this chapter out! October is a really busy month for me. I've been trying to get my lab's latest research experiment up and running, and I'm busy on the weekends with a lot of races (I try to supplement my income by running/winning road races, hahaha). So I don't have as much free time. 
> 
> I hope this chapter makes up for it!

Cassandra hadn’t gone very far.

Evelyn found her in the common room of the inn, tucked away in a dark corner by herself. She was hunched over the table, staring down at the wooden surface with a scowl on her face. Dorian’s package was still in her hands, unopened. She looked up when Evelyn sat down across from her.

“You ran out of there awfully fast,” Evelyn said lightly, crossing her arms over her breasts. Cassandra flushed. “Any particular reason why?”

“No.” She had answered too quickly, too suddenly. It was obviously a lie.

“Cassandra…” Her friend huffed, leaning back in her chair. She looked away stubbornly, and Evelyn knew that she was going to have to fight to get an answer from the other woman. “Did Varric say something to you?”

The Seeker snorted. “We were talking, yes,” she replied. “But I am not mad.”

“Did he upset you?”

“No.”

Evelyn eyed her friend, trying to judge the expression on her face. She still had that scowl etched across her features, but it wasn’t the usual look of annoyance or anger that Varric usually elicited. It looked more like confusion.

“I told Varric that I did not want him to leave.” Well. That was easier than anticipated. Cassandra’s voice was small; Evelyn had to strain her ears to hear, and even then she wasn’t sure that she’d heard her friend correctly.

“You… you said what?”

Cassandra repeated her sentence, her tone snappish. A faint tinge of pink highlighted her cheeks at having to make the admittance twice.

“Why not?” Evelyn asked, leaning forward over the table. She tried to suppress the eagerness she knew was threatening to creep into her voice. She had to know her friend’s feelings on the matter before she pressed the issue.

“I do not know,” the other woman said, deflating. She slumped forward, finally setting Dorian’s package aside. “It is… strange, to think of him this way.” She looked up quickly, her blush intensifying. “Not like that!”

Evelyn smirked. “I’m sure,” she teased.

“I do not-!” Cassandra broke off mid-sentence, pursing her lips. “He has his duties back in Kirkwall. I know that. I do not wish to keep him from his work.”

“But you don’t want him to leave, either,” Evelyn murmured.

The Seeker nodded. “Why?” It was an introspective question, her eyes distant. “Why would I feel this way? It is not logical.”

Evelyn had to chuckle at that. “Feelings rarely are,” she replied.

“Feelings?” Cassandra repeated warily. She considered this suggestion for a moment, this idea that she could potentially have feelings for Varric. Evelyn saw her mulling the concept over in her mind.

She did not reject it.

“Feelings…” the Seeker said again, slower this time. She looked up at Evelyn now. “Do you think I have… feelings for Varric?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Evelyn said lightly. “What do _you_ think?”

“I…”

Cassandra said nothing for several long minutes. Evelyn waited patiently, not wishing to push her friend. Sure enough, a few moments later the Seeker spoke. “He is infuriating and coarse. I cannot stand his sense of humor. And his every other word is blasphemous. But there is something about him that draws me in. He is… hopeful, despite everything that has happened to him.

“And he is… kind.” She looked up to Evelyn. “He was always sure to ask you how you were doing. He watched out for you. I hear that he did the same for Hawke.” She looked back down at the table. “He is a good person.”

“He is,” Evelyn agreed lightly.

Cassandra snorted. “I sound like a lovesick fool,” she scoffed.

“You sound like a woman who cares very much for a man,” Evelyn corrected. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“He is not the man I thought I would fall in love with.”

Evelyn chuckled. “You don’t get to choose the people that you fall in love with, Cass,” she replied. “That’s why it’s called ‘falling’, and not ‘stepping’.”

She would have expected Cassandra to shoot her a withering look, but the other woman’s gaze was still downcast. She was thinking, brows drawn down. “What am I going to do?” she asked quietly.

Evelyn hesitated; she was never sure of what to say in situations like this. She liked to think of herself as a good friend, and an able listener. But she wasn’t particularly good at giving romantic advice. She didn’t have too much experience to go on, and she wasn’t as intuitive about these things as Dorian.

She grabbed Cassandra’s hand then, squeezing it gently. At the very least, she figured, she could be compassionate. Her friend deserved that much. “I can’t give you an answer to that,” she said softly. “But I know you will do what you think is right. You've always followed your heart.” Cassandra opened her mouth to speak, but Evelyn held up her other hand, forestalling the other woman. “And don’t tell me otherwise!”

Cassandra glowered at her. “Hmph.” She snatched her hand back in accompaniment to her indignant noise.

Evelyn smiled and settled back into her chair, catching one of the serving girls’ attention with a wave of her hand. “You’ve got a few days until he leaves for Kirkwall, you know.”

“Yes,” the other snapped. “So?”

Evelyn winked at her friend. “So hop to it.”

* * * * *

“I interrupted something, didn’t I?”

Varric snorted and ran a hand through his hair. He had to force himself to not yank on the tail irritably; it wasn’t his hair’s fault, he reminded himself. And he couldn’t pull it out of frustration; it had taken him years to perfect this look.

“Now, Sparkler, whatever gave you that impression?” He settled for sarcasm instead of open derision. It got his point across without being overly snappy.

“My apologies,” Dorian said, stepping forward. “If I’d known you were in the midst of wooing, I would have gladly loitered around the common room.”

“Wooing?” Varric raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got it all wrong. When I woo a woman, she knows she’s being wooed. Flowers, candles, chocolates… all the good stuff.” He threw his hands wide, indicating the sparsely decorated inn room. “Do you see any roses and candies?”

“Deflect my attempts to get to the bottom of this if you will,” the mage said flatly. “I have a hunch, and my hunches are almost always right.” He sat down on one of the beds and began stuffing his other packages into his saddlebags, one by one.

Varric studied him for a moment, unsure of what to do. The Inquisitor had rushed out after Cassandra, intent upon getting answers. He wasn’t sure what the Seeker would tell her; the two of them were good friends.

Oh, who was he kidding? Cassandra would tell Tits everything.

He sighed, sitting down in the chair he’d vacated earlier.

“Copper for your thoughts?”

“It’ll take more than that, Sparkler.”

“Silver, then. I can afford to be generous, you know.”

“Really?” Varric asked. “Between your love of silk and your knowledge of fine wines, I’d thought you were a peasant.”

Dorian scrunched his nose distastefully at being compared to peasantry, but said nothing of it. “Perhaps I can help,” he said instead.

“Help?” Varric repeated. “That implies that you think I have a problem.”

“You do.” The mage nodded to the door. “She just ran downstairs.”

“How is the Seeker my problem?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lip drawing up into a smirk. He stood then, walking over to the small desk Varric had been writing upon earlier. Varric watched him curiously as the mage opened the drawer and pulled out a book. He flashed it in Varric’s direction, and the dwarf’s heart sank. Dammit. Dorian knew too? Did _everyone_ know about his little slip-up except Cassandra? He was beginning to think so. “Tell me again, my dear dwarf, about your problems with Lady Pentaghast, and this time, do try to be honest about it,” he said.

“It was an accident,” he said simply.

“I hope she realizes that when the time comes,” the mage replied flatly. “Otherwise, you’ll need a change of address.”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Of course not,” Dorian agreed. “When the time comes, of course. You may have to tell her yourself. Cassandra is delightfully obtuse when it comes to matters of the heart. It’s quite adorable, really. She takes that tripe that you write for reality, so when real love looks her in the face, she has no idea.”

Varric was silent, not trusting himself to give a neutral response, and Dorian capitalized on the moment.

“What are you going to do about it, hmm?”

“Here to give me a speech about how I need to act on my feelings?” Varric asked. “Don’t waste your breath. Tits got to me first.”

Dorian huffed. “Is that what you think this is?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve done my fair share of meddling in other people’s relationships, Varric, but I’m not going to meddle in yours. I hardly think you need my help. You’re the resident expert on romance, after all.”

“Then why bring this up at all?”

The mage shrugged. “Curiosity?” he suggested.

“Curiosity killed the mage,” Varric warned.

“And lyrium-enhanced necromantic abilities brought him back,” Dorian retorted.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Varric said finally, intent on ending this conversation before Dorian managed to goad him into revealing something he didn’t wish to reveal. If anyone was capable of it, it was Dorian.

“Oh?” The mage arched an eyebrow delicately. “Pity.” He sighed and walked back over to his bed, sitting down on the blankets heavily. “It would have made for a fantastic story.”

Varric snorted. “That one touches a little too close to home, Sparkler,” he said.

Dorian smiled faintly. “The best ones always do.”

* * * * *

It was time.

He’d packed his things carefully, checking off his list to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He’d said his good-byes to the Inquisitor and Curly, Tiny and Sparkler, and even the Kid. He’d cleaned up his old quarters, leaving them nice and neat for the next time he’d come to Skyhold.

Yes, it was time.

It was past time that he left, actually. He’d planned on leaving early that morning, when the mountains were still bathed in fog, but the sun was now directly overhead, beating down upon him. He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow, staring down at his pony’s mane. The animal was stamping its feet impatiently, sensing his indecision. Poor thing.

The thing was, he’d left something unfinished. And he didn’t like unfinished business. You had to complete things, get them to a state of stasis. Otherwise, they always came back to bite you in the ass.

With a sigh, Varric dismounted, handing the reins back to a very annoyed Master Dennett. The horse master shook his head, but led the pony out of the way just the same.

Varric ignored the man’s ire, heading for the area of the courtyard where he knew Cassandra would be practicing her swordplay. He wasn’t sure why she practiced so often; she knew the forms by heart, and she was a master with a blade. She hardly needed all of the hours she put into training. But Cassandra was nothing if not devoted.

She’d ignored him on the trip back from Val Royeaux, flushing pink every time he caught her looking at him. He’d tried to speak to her several times, but she’d always pushed her horse forward to speak with the Inquisitor. She’d made it quite clear that she didn’t want to talk.

But he wasn’t going all the way back to Kirkwall without saying something, anything. Not when he didn’t know when he’d be back.

Cassandra was in fine form, moving through various stances as lithely as a dancer. He ducked behind the tavern wall for a moment, watching her through an overgrown bush. It _was_ a dance of sorts, he realized; every move was calculated, each step in sync with the swings of her wooden practice blade. She was at her most beautiful when she had a sword in her hand, and her most dangerous.

He couldn’t tell whether that was more frightening or attractive.

She drew up short, her blade an inch from the training dummy’s throat. She paused for a moment, chest heaving as she gasped for air, and then stepped back, the sword falling to her side.

Now was his chance. Varric stepped out from behind the bush and quickly moved to Cassandra’s side. She looked up as he approached; she panicked, looking around for an excuse to avoid him. The thought made him slightly angry. He needed to talk to her, dammit! She couldn’t run away forever!

He stopped in his tracks.

He didn’t want her to run away. But wasn’t that what he’d been doing almost his entire adult life? From the Merchant Guild, his parents, and even his sorrows. He was very good at compartmentalizing these things; he knew that. It was a survival instinct.

But he’d never really considered how his running away affected other people. He hadn’t had to think about it.

Now that Cassandra was trying to run away from him…

Shit.

In his moment of hesitation, the Seeker had rushed into the armory. Varric cursed and headed into the building after her. She was heading up the stairs to her quarters. He followed her as fast as he could, ignoring the curious gazes of the smiths. Let them think what they would.

He caught her door just as she turned to slam it closed, slipping inside the room deftly. Cassandra huffed in irritation. “Leave me alone, Varric,” she snapped.

“Just a minute,” he panted. “That’s all I need.”

She took an angry step towards him. “Leave! Now! Before I throw you out!”

“Come now, Seeker, you wouldn’t do that!” He didn’t believe the words even as they came out of his mouth. She was scowling at him fiercely, her hands balled into fists at her side. She would most _definitely_ throw him down the stairs if he didn’t handle himself carefully. “I just need a second of your time.”

“What do you want?” she demanded.

Taking that as an invitation, Varric shut the door behind him. Cassandra moved over to her bed, sitting down on the edge stiffly. She was tense, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice if necessary.

“I thought that you were leaving.”

“I am,” he replied quickly. He took a few cautious steps forward, and she froze, her eyes narrowing. He stopped, putting his hands up defensively. “Soon as we’re done here, I’m gone.”

“And what exactly are we doing here?” she asked.

“I…”

“I have no time for this!”

“I needed to see you,” he said quickly. Her face softened a fraction. “Before I left.”

“Why?”

“Honestly?” he snorted. “I have no idea.”

Her brows snapped down, face once again hardening into a steel mask. “You are wasting my time,” she said.

“You avoided me,” Varric said quickly, searching for something he could say that would give Cassandra pause. He found it; she looked away from him then, slightly abashed. “The entire way back to Skyhold. Wouldn’t even give me the time of day.”

“I… had my reasons.”

“Care to elaborate?”

She looked back at him. “I have not decided what to do about… this. So I did not talk to you. It seemed like a good idea.”

He snorted at that.

They were a real pair, weren’t they? Opposites, really. She’d not wanted to face an unfamiliar situation, so she’d not spoken to him. He’d thrown himself into the unfamiliar situation without thinking of what to say, and now he had no clue what to do.

It was a mess all right.

He moved across the room and sat down next to her. She eyed him warily, but she didn’t try to stop him. “I’ll be back,” he murmured, folding his hands in his lap. He meshed his fingers tightly together, unsure if he trusted himself not to do something foolish.

“I know that, Varric,” Cassandra snapped. “I am not a child!”

He sighed. “I don’t want to leave things like this,” he said, half-turning to look at her. “All… half-finished. Undone. Do you?”

She had the grace to blush. “No,” she replied quietly. She opened her mouth to say something else, but a short knock on the door interrupted her.

“Master Tethras? We are ready to depart, ser!”

Shit. Someone must have seen him follow Cassandra. The Seeker had already half-risen to answer the door; she would not look at him.

He grabbed her hand, pulling her back down. “Cassandra…”

“You should leave.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll get to that in a minute.”

“They are waiting for you.”

“I know that-”

“It is rude to keep people waiting on you.”

“Andraste’s tits!”

“Do not say such blasphemous things around me!”

He had had enough. His attempts at conversation were going nowhere.

So he did what he could to shut her up.

He kissed her.

Cassandra was surprised; he could tell by the way her mouth went lax against him, allowing him to feel how soft and pliant her lips really were, how full they were when they weren’t drawn back into a scowl. He opened his eyes and found her staring back at him, eyes round and wide.

“Hey now,” he murmured, “Don’t make me do this alone.”

She surged forward in response, kissing him so hard he nearly fell onto his back. He had to latch onto her arms to catch himself. Sensing her mistake, she pulled back apologetically, red tingeing her cheeks. “I am sorry,” she murmured.

“No.” He leaned back in, tilting her head upwards. “Don’t say that.” He kissed her again, and this time she was prepared for it; she melted into his touch. Hesitant at first, she quickly grew more forceful, moving her lips against his until they were both panting for breath.

“Master Tethras!”

They broke apart at the second call, louder this time. Somehow his hands had framed her face, and her fingers were threaded in his hair. They stared at each for a moment in rumpled disarray. “I need to go,” he said.

“I know.” He shouldn’t have been happy to hear the disappointment ring clear in her voice – but he was. Oh, how he was.

There was another knock, insistent.

He rose to his feet reluctantly, Cassandra’s hands falling limp in her lap. “When you will be back?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“… will you be back?”

He smiled, trying to lighten the tense mood. “Come now, Seeker, you know me – I have to see the end of a story. Can’t stop halfway through.”

She scowled at him. “You _would_ make a joke right now.”

“What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”

He left then, yanking the door open and apologizing to the annoyed man who’d been sent to fetch him. He looked back just as he was about to head down the stairs. One last look. For the road.

She was smiling. She’d brought her hands to her face, holding her flaming cheeks.

And Maker, she was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


	6. Chapter 6

“Someone’s quiet.”

Isabela’s words drew Varric from his thoughts. She wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she was flipping a deck of cards through her nimble fingers almost lazily. But he could tell she was watching him from the corner of her eye. It was the small smirk that gave it away, the humorous upturn to her lips.

“Do we need to make some trouble?” he asked, reaching for his ale. “Stir things up a bit?”

She snorted. “Please,” she drawled. “You couldn’t start anything right now even if you tried.”

“Care to bet on that?”

She set the cards down then, crossing her arms beneath her ample bosom. “Let’s cut to the chase,” she said. “I’ve never seen you this quiet in the Hanged Man. Something is obviously bothering you. What is it?”

Varric took a long drink of ale, wondering how to respond to her question. She was watching him carefully – there was no point in lying. Isabela was no fool, and she was just as good as he was at sniffing out the truth. Lying to her would be insulting. Did he tell her the truth then? He wasn’t sure he wanted to do that. Isabela was a good friend of his, but she wasn’t always the most trustworthy person around.

“Is it a woman?” She beat him to the punch with her second question, eyes narrowing slyly. Sensing weakness, she leaned forward eagerly. “It is, isn’t it?”

“I am neither confirming nor denying that accusation,” he said evasively, chuckling to himself despite the unease in the pit of his stomach.

“Accusation?” she asked, chuckling. “You aren’t on trial, Varric… not yet.”

“Oh, boy.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” she purred. “Tell me, then. Who is she?”

“Oh, you know – a highborn lady with bloodlines bluer than lyrium.”

“I was being serious.”

“So was I.” He took another long drink of ale, hoping he’d sufficiently stumped his friend. If she managed to figure it out… well, shit, he’d need something a lot stronger than the swill they served here.

Isabela’s smirk slipped a bit, and she paused, watching Varric carefully. “It’s not about… _her?”_

He knew exactly whom she meant.

Bianca.

Isabela knew the basics of his relationship with the smith, of course. It wasn’t _exactly_ a secret. She had picked up bits and pieces of his life story along the course of their adventures with Hawke, and she’d managed to fill in a few gaps on her own. She was intuitive that way. A few times, she’d even asked him questions. But the real kicker had been after they’d dealt with Aurelian Titus; after what he’d seen in the Fade… well, he’d needed someone to talk to after that.

“Varric?”

“No.” His answer was immediate and firm. Isabela looked taken aback, but she only lost her momentum for a moment.

She whistled sharply, leaning back in her chair and downing the rest of her ale. “Well, well,” she said quietly. Her dark eyes glittered over the rim of the tankard. “A love triangle, is it? Sounds like something out of your books.”

“Love triangle might be exaggerating things a bit,” he said quickly.

She snorted. “That’s not how I see it,” she retorted. “You, caught between two lovely ladies? Trying to decide which you love more, is that it?” She winked at him then. “You should see if they’d agree to share you. I know I would.”

“I’m flattered, really I am,” Varric said flatly. “But neither of them are the sharing type.” He had to chuckle at the image that came to his mind unbidden – Bianca glaring up at Cassandra, screaming that Varric had been _hers_ first; Cassandra giving no quarter, accusing the other woman of leaving, saying she had no right to complain. It was a scene worthy of one of his serials; about that, Isabela was absolutely right. 

Except it wasn’t really funny – it was ridiculous more than amusing. His laughter faded then, and he sighed. “Bianca doesn’t know,” he said.

“Of course not,” Isabela agreed. “She’s on the other end of the world, and you two have no contact with each other.” She grinned. “Or, at least, that’s the theory.”

“I didn’t reply to her last letter,” he admitted. He hadn’t been able to; she’d written him a lovely, endearing note about how she had never meant for the situation in Valammar to happen. She’d fervently apologized for getting him involved, explained that it had all been a terrible mistake on her part and that she would never do it again.

He wasn’t sure that she could keep that promise.

Bianca was a daring, impetuous soul. She was brilliant, of course; the crossbow on his back was a testament to that. But the same ambition that pushed her to discover new smithing techniques also made her reckless. She’d consulted a mage about red lyrium without doing any digging into his background, his beliefs. And long before that, she’d suggested they run away together and get married, consequences to their families be damned.

In some ways, it was romantic. In other ways, it was tragic.

“It’s not nice to keep a girl waiting, Varric,” Isabela reminded him.

“It’s also not nice to… oh, never mind.” He caught himself just in time, preventing himself from letting loose too much information. Isabela was watching him carefully, so he took a deep breath and continued. “Bianca’s not waiting, Rivaini. She doesn’t wait. Ever. She’s always going, too fast, too strong. And even if she was waiting, nothing would come of it.”

"Do you still love her?"

"Yes." Again, his answer was immediate. "I always will. But... it's not the same as it used to be. Things change."

"Your first is always the worst," Isabela agreed. 

"Bianca's not _that_ bad, Rivaini," Varric snorted. 

"Yes? Hm... wish I could say the same of my first," she replied. She changed topics then, steering the conversation away from herself. “And this other woman – is she like Bianca?”

“She’s…”

Cassandra was the same. And she wasn’t.

The Seeker could be very rash. She leapt before she looked. She thought with her heart instead of her head. But she was also highly disciplined in a way that Bianca wasn’t. House Davri had spoiled its most brilliant smith, hoping against hope that Bianca would be named a paragon. As a result, Bianca could be… naïve at times. Childish, almost. That’s what her plan for them to elope had been – terribly, terribly naïve. He’d seen that, as much as he’d hated it; it was what had alerted him that he was in the Fade, back in Tevinter.

“You can’t even describe her.”

Varric looked up, expecting to see confusion in his friend’s face. When he saw outright glee in her sparkling brown eyes, it was him who ended up feeling perplexed.

“Oh, sweetness, you've got it bad,” the pirate sighed. She stood up then, grabbing their tankards. “The next round is on me. You’re going to need a lot more to drink.”

He scowled at her retreating back. He hated it when she pulled the big sister card on him. She didn’t do it often, thankfully, but when she did, he always left the conversation feeling like the awkward twelve-year-old dwarf he’d once been.

Many years ago, of course. He was anything but awkward now.

Isabela returned with not two, but four tankards, pushing half of them in his direction and saving the others for herself. “Drink up!” she commanded, immediately moving for one of her flagons.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” he demanded, smiling. “You’re losing your touch, Rivaini, if you have to get men inebriated to sleep with you.”

The pirate snorted into her cup. “I have _never_ needed booze to get laid, Varric,” she snapped. She set the flagon back down on the table and leaned over, her breasts threatening to slip free from the corset she wore. “You forget that I have some very valuable assets on me at all times.”

“Put those away before you hurt someone,” he joked.

She grinned, but sat back in the chair anyways, taking another swig of ale. “So. Back to your little problem. Does woman number two know how you feel?”

“We’ve… not really discussed it.”

“Varric!”

He put his hands up in a defensive gesture. “What?” he demanded. “There wasn’t time!”

“You left Kirkwall for months to help the Inquisition, and you don’t have any time to spare?” she asked flatly. “You couldn’t take the time to write her _one_  damn letter about how you feel? We both know you aren't _that_ busy.”

“… I have deadlines to meet,” he replied. “I know the concept is lost on you, Rivaini, but some of us put business before pleasure.”

“And look how happy you are!” she shot back. She shook her head. “Come, Varric, I know you’re a busy, busy man, but surely you have the time to pen the poor woman a letter. I’d carry it to Ferelden myself if I knew you’d write it.”

“You would?” he asked, surprised.

“Sure!” she agreed. “Wouldn’t want it to get into the wrong hands, and all.”

"You just want to read it for yourself."

"Call it a usage fee for using my delivery services. But I'd take it to her just the same."

He sat back in his chair, nursing his ale, as he considered her offer. He had no doubts that Isabela would get it to Cassandra. She would also read the letter's contents and then tease him relentlessly later. But he also had no way of knowing when he would get to go back to Skyhold. He'd thought this would be a small jaunt to Kirkwall, but his editor had other plans. He was practically demanding that the Inquisitor's story be finished within the month. That meant a lot of long hours bent over a desk.

But Isabela was right about one thing – it wasn’t right to keep the Seeker waiting indefinitely, even if she was willing to do so. 

He sighed. “Alright.”

Isabela made a gleeful noise, sensing she’d scored a point against him.

“But this stays between you and me,” he warned her. He didn’t want news of this… this thing between Cassandra and him getting around. Not until they had a chance to discuss where they stood.

“Of course,” the Rivaini agreed. “I’ll carry your secrets to the grave, Varric.”

“So long as you get to know them,” he snorted.

Her grin was huge in her face. “Usage fee, darling. I don't do anything for free." 

"Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret this?"

"Come now, Varric. You know you love me."

* * * * *

Writing a letter was harder than he thought.

He’d always considered himself quite verbose, prose coming as naturally to him as swordplay did to Cassandra, or Curly. Normally, he could churn out a few pages of writing every half-hour. If he was on a tangent, he could go even faster than that.

But now, when what he said really mattered, his words were failing him.

Varric sighed and pushed away the empty pages irritably. The candles he’d bought earlier that day were running low; he’d been at this for hours, ever since he’d left Isabela’s side. His first draft had been deplorable; he’d tossed it into the fire almost shamefully. The second draft hadn’t been much better. The third… well, it had given him a good laugh.

The fourth draft wasn’t even allowing itself to be written. He’d managed to write Cassandra’s name across the page – and that was it.

Her name. How romantic.

Come to think of it, he’d never really written a love letter before. He had exchanged letters with Bianca, but they were always in code, short and to the point. In the early parts of their relationship, he’d been a little more flirtatious. But he’d never dared to be too explicit, fearing his words would fall into the wrong hands. When he’d told Bianca how he’d felt, he’d done so in person, in hushed, hurried words before they’d been caught. It really hadn’t been romantic at all so much as desperate.

He didn’t want it to be that way with Cassandra. She was a romantic soul, a creature of passion. He was also willing to bet that she didn’t have a whole lot of experience to go on. As such, he wanted to do this the right way. He wanted to make this special for her. He wanted to match the image she’d likely built up in her imagination.

She deserved no less than that.

But was he up to the task? He wasn’t sure. Writing romance was a lot different from practicing romance.

Wait.

That was it!

Varric grabbed the pages excitedly, dipping his quill back into the inkwell.

He was a master at writing romance novels, renowned from the shores of Kirkwall to the gilded halls of Orlais – despite his bastard editor’s claims to the contrary. Fiction was his forte, the sappier the better. His fans ate it up.

So why try to write a letter when he could write a story that conveyed the same points? He’d write the next chapter of _Romance in Riposte_ – have Andromeda receive a love letter from her dashing lover. And then he’d send the manuscript to Cassandra, and she would read it, and hopefully she would get the message. Maybe he could write a short letter to the Inquisitor too, explaining his plan. Evelyn would help him out, surely, if Cassandra didn’t read between the lines.

Yes, this was much better than his botched attempts at letter writing.

It was a rather brilliant plan, if he did say so himself.

* * * * *

“Here.”

Isabela looked up from supervising her crew, eyes snapping onto Varric, and then down to the loosely bound book in his hands. “Well, damn,” she drawled, taking the pages into her hands. “I told you to write a letter, Varric, not a _book_.”

“It’s better this way,” he replied. “Get it to the Inquisitor. She'll know what to do - put a letter in there. Just, uh, make sure no one else reads it. Or gets a hold of it. My editor will kill me if he figures out I gave someone a copy of a manuscript before him.”

Isabela chuckled. “We can’t have that, can we?” she asked. “Who else can I count on to bail me out when I’m in trouble?” She shot him a wry grin.

“How quick can you get to Skyhold?”

She raised an eyebrow, and he had to stifle a curse. _Too eager!_ He chastised himself.

“It’s several weeks’ voyage from here to Jader,” she replied. “Assuming we don’t get hit by any storms. From there, I’ll have to dock my boat and travel inward. I can’t say how long it’ll to get up into the mountains.” She snorted. “I haven’t the best sense of distance on land.”

“Jader?” he asked, surprised she wasn’t heading for a larger port.

“It’s the closest to the Frostbacks,” Isabela replied. She smirked at him then. “Unless you want me to sail to Val Royeaux, buy some perfume for your lady love? Spritz the pages?” She held up the book.

“Please don’t.”

“And here I had you pegged for a romantic!”

“I’m terribly romantic,” he agreed, “But I draw the line at Orlesian perfume. I prefer to avoid the stench of despair when I can.”

“Very well,” she said, tucking the manuscript into a bag slung over her shoulder. The smirk faded then, a genuine smile in its place. “I’ll get this to your lady, Varric. Don’t you worry.”

“Worry?” he repeated. “Me?” He chuckled. “I think you have the wrong dwarf.”

“Be seeing you, Varric,” she said, ignoring his flippant remark. She winked at him once before turning and boarding her ship, calling out final orders to her crew as she passed them. Varric crossed his arms over his chest, watching as the ship made ready to leave port.

He waited until the boat was out of view before he turned to head back for the inn. A strange sense of calm had settled over him, replacing the nerves he’d felt when walking to the harbor. Though he’d been sure of the plan last night, the ale aiding his confidence, it had waned when he’d woken in the morning. He’d hesitated about bringing the damn thing to the harbor at all.

But it was out of his hands now. There was nothing for it. She would get the book, and she would read it. She would either understand or she wouldn’t. He hoped it was the former.

But again, it was out of his hands.

And that was a strangely comforting feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how short this chapter is! I really struggled with it, so I hope it's alright. I'm aiming to make this 10 chapters, give or take. So we're almost there!
> 
> Just as a note, there are some references (i.e. Aurelian Titus, Varric's Fade experience, etc.) from the comic books. I hope they aren't too confusing for non-readers. But they're really good if you haven't read them! Highly recommended!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize again for how long this took me! Sorry! :O Real life is a bitch!

“Inquisitor.”

Evelyn looked up to see Josephine standing at the top of the stairs, a hesitant expression on her face. She smiled at her friend, waving the other woman over. When the ambassador stayed still, she frowned. Was something the matter?

“There is someone here to see you,” Josephine continued. “She says it is of utmost importance that she speak with you.”

Evelyn sat back in her chair. “Who is it?”

“I… do not know,” the Antivan admitted. “She would not tell me.” She took a few quiet steps into the room, looking around as if she were afraid someone would overhear her. “There is more,” she said softly, voice barely audible. “She snuck into the castle in the middle of the night. She was waiting for me in my office this morning.”

Evelyn lurched forward in her chair, hands clenching involuntarily against the wooden armrests. “Did she threaten you?” she demanded, instantly on the defensive.

“Not at all!” Josephine quickly replied. “She was… quite pleasant, all things considered. But she remains quite insistent that she see you. And she wishes her presence to go unannounced.”

Interesting, Evelyn mused. What did this mystery woman want? She was intrigued, despite how uncomfortable she was to hear that the stranger had infiltrated Skyhold so easily. She would have to talk to Cullen about increasing their security; if one person could sneak into Skyhold, others could too.

“Is she waiting for me now?”

Josephine nodded. “Shall I send her up?”

“Yes, please,” Evelyn nodded.

Josephine left and returned a few moments later, a hooded woman in tow. She hesitated at leaving Evelyn alone with the stranger, but Evelyn waved her off with a hand. She was grateful for her friend’s concern, but it was unnecessary. She rose to her feet, eyes flicking to where her bow rested against a nearby shelf. It was within reach if she had to use it.

Before she could say anything, the stranger threw the hood off, shrugging out of the cloak and letting it drop to the floor. Evelyn blinked in surprise as the woman sauntered over to her, dropping into the chair before her desk as if she’d been invited. “Lovely castle you have here,” she said softly, propping her feet up on the desk. “Nice and… big.”

Evelyn slowly sat back down, studying the other woman intently. She was very pretty, with the ample curves that drew male attention. Her luxurious mahogany hair was kept back from her face with a blue scarf, and her honey brown eyes were warm. She quirked a lip up at Evelyn’s inspection. “See something you like?” she asked, a touch of flirtation in her voice.

“I’m curious,” Evelyn replied.

“Perhaps I can set your mind at ease,” the other woman purred.

“How did you manage to sneak into Skyhold wearing all of that jewelry?” Evelyn asked. “I always seem to lose mine when I wear it into the field.”

The woman chuckled. “What can I say? I’m good at keeping a hand on things - one of my many talents,” she replied. She paused, studying Evelyn for a moment. She must have liked what she saw, for she smiled a moment a later. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Inquisitor.”

“Really? You’ve heard of me?”

The woman snorted. “Who hasn’t?” she asked flatly. “You saved the world, sweets. That doesn’t lend itself well to anonymity. If you’ve been trying to remain inconspicuous, you’ve been doing a rather piss poor job of it.”

“Oh, no, I relish the attention,” Evelyn retorted, rolling her eyes. “I love having my name dragged through the dirt by the various groups I’ve managed to offend.”

“That’s the spirit,” the woman said, grinning. “Keep the asshats on their toes!”

“So, if I may ask, who’s talking about me?”

“In short? Everyone. But most of my information’s from a first hand witness to your heroic acts. A mutual friend of ours – short, devilishly handsome fellow with a pelt to rival a bear’s?” The woman winked impishly at her. “He’s been very complimentary. Though I must say-” Her eyes flicked down to Evelyn’s breasts, “-he has _greatly_ exaggerated the size of your breasts. What a shame.”

Evelyn snorted at that. _Dammit, Varric, what have you done now?_

She decided that she liked this woman. And if Varric trusted her, so could she. She held out a hand. “Call me, Evelyn.”

The woman took it, smiling at her warmly. “Isabela.”

“ _That_ Isabela?”

Isabela’s smile grew. “The very same,” she agreed.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you then,” Evelyn said. “It’s not every day that I get to meet one of the people Varric tells shameless stories about.”

“I could say the same of you,” Isabela replied. “I particularly enjoyed the one about how he gave you your nickname.” Evelyn flushed, remembering that unfortunate incident, and the other woman chuckled. “Any chance I could get a reenactment?” she asked. She didn’t even bother to hide her leering.

“Unfortunately, dear Roderick has passed on,” Evelyn replied. “So no, I don’t think so.”

“No?” Isabela raised an eyebrow. “I’d be willing to play his part.”

“No.”

The other woman made a pouting face. “Alright,” she said dramatically. She sighed, sitting up straighter in her chair and letting her feet come to rest on the floor. “To business then. You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

“Just a little.”

Isabela reached into a bag and placed a stack of papers on the desk between them. Evelyn frowned down at them; what were they? There was no title, the pages held together loosely with string. “What is this?” she asked, reaching out to grab it. It looked sort of like a book, or…

An early draft of a manuscript.

The other woman smacked her hand away. “Not yet!” she snapped. “Read this first.” She handed Evelyn a letter then, the corners slightly mussed – as if someone had already read its contents.

“You read my letter,” she said accusatorily.

Isabela didn’t even try to deny it. “I was curious,” she remarked, grinning. “Besides, it’s not exactly sensitive information.”

“You still shouldn’t read other people’s letters.”

“Varric knew I was going to do it.” Isabela shrugged. “So he left out any juicy details, the bastard. I might as well have read an advertisement for clotted cream.”

Evelyn sighed, putting the letter and the draft to the side. She would read it later, when she was alone and didn’t have to worry about anyone reading over her shoulder. She returned her gaze to the pirate, half-expecting her to leave now that she’d relinquished the package.

But Isabela was giving her no indication that she was going to leave.

“So…” Evelyn drawled, tapping her fingers together. “How long do you plan to stay in Skyhold? Should I have a room prepared for you?”

The other woman snorted. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” she said quickly. “I’ll stay in the tavern. I’ll be much more comfortable there.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Trust me, I’ll stay out of your hair,” Isabela continued. “I’m just here to make sure that things go… according to plan. A few days, maybe. Then I’ll be on my merry way.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

Isabela winked. “How kind of you, sweetness,” she purred. “But I can’t stay long. The sea calls to me.” She looked around the room with distaste. “Too much land and I start to lose my bearings. It’s unsettling.”

“I’ve never been out to sea,” Evelyn offered.

“ _Never?”_ Isabela looked scandalized. 

“I spent my summers on the shores of Ostwick as a child,” Evelyn replied. “But no, I’ve never really been out to sea. A pleasure cruise once, in Hercinia – does that count?”

“No,” Isabela said flatly. She shook her head. “We’ll have to get you on a real boat someday, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn smiled. “Sure,” she replied. “Someday.”

“I’ll hold you to that. "But for now, I need a drink,” Isabela remarked, rising to her feet. She took a few steps towards the window, peering outside. 

“Looking for something?”

“The tavern,” the other woman said. “Varric told me you have a surprisingly good selection of ales for such an out-of-the-way location.”

“Go back to the Great Hall and exit out the double doors,” Evelyn replied. “Once you’re in the courtyard, it’s straight ahead. You can’t miss it.”

Isabela turned and grinned at her. “You’re a doll,” she cooed. She turned to leave, hips swaying as she walked. Evelyn shook her head, smiling faintly. Maker, but Isabela was going to drive the men in Skyhold mad. And a few of the women, she corrected herself, thinking of Sera.

The pirate paused at the top of the stairs, looking back to Evelyn. “Until next time, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn nodded, and the other woman left, taking the stairs two at a time. The door clicked open and shut a few seconds later.

She sat back in her chair, running a hand through her hair. That… had not been what she was expecting. On the one hand, she was glad to know that their would-be intruder was a known entity, perhaps even a friend. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure what to make of Varric sending someone in his place.

She eyed the letter at the side of her desk. Perhaps there was a logical explanation? She grabbed for it, unfolding the pages and smoothing the creases. She instantly recognized Varric’s handwriting, and began to read.

_Tits,_

_I’m sorry about Rivaini. I feel the need to apologize before she does something bad. If she hasn’t done anything yet… well, have someone keep an eye on her. You never know._

_You’re probably wondering why I’m not there myself. In short – my editor’s an ass. He wants the copy of the Inquisition’s story as soon as possible. Keeps muttering to himself about deadlines whenever we meet. Bit spooky, that. So I’m stuck here in Kirkwall until I can finish the damn thing. I’ve been throwing around potential titles too… what do you think of “All this Shit is Weird”? Too much?_

_It’s not important. A title’s just the hook. I’ll think of something._

_Onto business._

_I need a favor._

_See the draft I sent you? It’s the latest chapter of_ Romance in Riposte _. Finished it early. Now, it’s not edited or anything, so don’t let it influence your affection for my work. I was hoping you could take it to my biggest fan. I need to show her my perspective. Read it yourself, first – you’ll understand._

_Try not to die until I come back,_  
_Varric_

Evelyn snorted at Varric’s candid end to the letter, a faint smile tracing her lips. He always found a way to make her laugh, even when he wasn’t there. It made her miss him all the more. She picked up the manuscript then, flipping to the first page. It had obviously been hastily written, the ink smudged in a few places. That gave her pause – it wasn’t like Varric to submit unfinished work. What was so important about this chapter?

There was only one way to find out.

She pushed away the reports she’d been reading and settled into her chair, curling up into a ball on the small cushion. Cullen would be irritated that she’d ignored his reports for yet another day, but she had a feeling that she could soothe that irritation away.

She could be _very_ persuasive, after all.

* * * * *

“Andraste’s flaming knickers!”

Evelyn sighed, melting back into her chair in an awed heap.

She’d finally finished the chapter Varric had sent her. It had been a long one, and very emotionally tense. She’d laughed, she’d cried, and now she found her heart in her throat. She put a hand to her breast, stubbornly blinking away the second round of tears threatening to fall.

She looked down at the manuscript, fingers clutching the pages tightly. Noticing this, she eased her grip, letting the document rest loosely in her lap.

It was perfect.

The events of the chapter roughly mirrored Cassandra’s life experiences; Evelyn knew enough of her friend’s life to realize that. The Lady Andromeda’s lover had been brutally killed in the chapter’s opening sequences, murdered in a bandit attack. The Lady was stricken by grief, but her strong devotion to her faith and her city helped her overcome the pain of his loss. As the chapter had continued, Andromeda uncovered a plot to destroy her beloved city. The enemies, the nefarious thieves of the under city, had forced her to recruit all kinds of individuals to her side.

Including one rather dashing rogue who fought with a crossbow.

She had to get this to Cassandra. She stood, gathering the manuscript in her arms, and prepared to leave her quarters. She paused when she realized it was dark outside; she had lost track of time while she’d been reading. Was it too late? Would Cassandra be asleep?

Her hesitation lasted only a moment before she made for the stairs.

No.

This was too important to leave until the morning. She had to get it to Cassandra.

* * * * *

There was a stranger in the Herald’s Rest that night.

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed as she watched the woman laugh raucously at a joke the Iron Bull made. She threw her entire body into the laugh, spilling the ale in her hand onto the table. Krem clapped a hand on her back in appreciation, and one of the other Chargers handed her a handkerchief.

She wasn’t someone the Seeker recognized. And yet she seemed… familiar, as if Cassandra should have been able to place her. The woman had a dark complexion, with rich brown hair and light, mischievous eyes. She was dressed in naught but a tunic, her large breasts threatening to spill from her laces. Gold jewelry shimmered at her ears and throat.

Cassandra snorted. If she didn’t know better, she’d say the stranger was a pirate. She certainly looked the part.

The woman looked up then, meeting Cassandra’s gaze from across the room. She winked, and the Seeker looked away, flushing. She swore she heard the stranger chuckle in response.

“Feeling shy?”

Cassandra looked up as Evelyn sat down across from her, a small leather bag in her hands. “What?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You’re blushing,” her friend informed her.

The Seeker grunted noncommittally and changed the subject. “What brings you here?” she asked. “I thought you were working on reports.”

Now it was Evelyn’s turn to blush. “Ah, yes… those can wait,” she said. She motioned to the bag before her. “I was a little distracted.”

Cassandra eyed the bag speculatively; it was rather nondescript, a standard traveling bag. She couldn’t determine its contents. “Distracted?” she repeated.

“I had a visitor today,” Evelyn replied. “We chatted a bit. She brought me something for you.”

“For me?” Cassandra frowned. “Who is this visitor?”

“She’s over there with Bull,” Evelyn said, pointing in the stranger’s direction. Cassandra’s eyes flicked back over to the table in question; the woman was staring at her again, and she smiled when she saw Cassandra look her way. “Her name’s Isabela. She’s one of Varric’s friends.”

Cassandra felt her stomach flutter in excitement upon hearing his name. She scowled and pushed the feeling away; there was no use in riling herself up. As much as she wanted him to be, he was still not here.

“What could she possibly have to give to me?” she demanded.

Evelyn snorted. “Trust me, I think there’s a lot she’d be willing to give to you,” she said flatly. “More than you’d be willing to take. But I think you’ll like this.” She pushed the leather bag forward. “Here.”

Cassandra hesitantly took the bag, reaching into it. Her hand closed around something solid; it felt like… like a book, but without the hard, wooden cover. She pulled it out, revealing a stack of papers held together with twine. There was nothing written on the first page, so she flipped to the second. She froze when she recognized Varric’s handwriting. Her eyes flew over the first few lines before she looked up at Evelyn in shock.

“What is this?” she demanded.

“The next chapter of _Romance in Riposte_ ,” Evelyn answered smugly. She reached forward and took Cassandra’s ale, taking a drink. Cassandra was too delighted with the object in her hands to care. “Varric thought you might like a sneak peak.”

“Yes,” she breathed, clutching the book in both her hands. She looked down eagerly, looking forward to reading the marvelously thick document. But Evelyn was still here. She hesitated, eyes stuck on the first line. It would be rude to read while her friend was visiting her. She looked up. Evelyn’s eyes were crinkled with mirth.

“Go,” she said, waving a hand. “Read. I won’t keep you.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra replied, rising to her feet. She clutched the pages to her chest. “You are a true friend.”

Evelyn snorted. “You’re hopeless,” she muttered. She grabbed Cassandra’s ale and stood, nodding to Cassandra once before walking over to join Bull and his crew. The stranger – Isabela, Cassandra corrected herself – winked at her as she walked over.

Cassandra half-wondered at what those two had discussed earlier, but she was too excited to give the thought proper attention. She rushed out of the tavern and over to the armory, dashing up the stairs to her quarters. She locked the door behind her and set about lighting some candles before settling into the blankets on her bed. She curled her knees up into her chest, cradling the chapter in her lap.

Excitement welling up in her breast, she forced herself to slowly begin to read.

_Shit happens._

_You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. And Andromeda was no exception. Sometimes, with no rhyme or reason, things just went wrong. Plans fell apart, schemes came to nothing, and a lot of times, there was nothing to be done._

_This was one of those times…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT DEAD, I PROMISE!
> 
> This story WILL be finished! I've just gotten sidetracked with another story involving Hawke, and his ego is just demanding I write him. But I still have to get these two lovebirds together!
> 
> Also, just a note... I know Varric technically doesn't finish "All This Shit is Weird" until 9:44 Dragon, but for the sake of this story, he's finishing it earlier.

Evelyn jumped when a hand slammed down onto the table in front of her.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Bewildered, she looked up into the wild, frantic eyes of Cassandra. The Seeker’s hair was disheveled, as if she’d been pulling at in frustration, and her cheeks were flushed. Evelyn frowned, wondering what had happened that had her friend in such a state.

“What are you talking about?” she asked slowly, eyes flickering across the table to Dorian to see if he had any inclinations about the situation. He shrugged, seemingly as lost as she was.

“What is this?” Cassandra demanded, shoving something into Evelyn’s hands.

Evelyn looked down; it was the copy of the manuscript Varric had sent to her. She looked back up at Cassandra. “Did you read it?” she asked.

“Of course I read it!” the Seeker snapped. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“…and?” Dorian prompted, leaning forward eagerly.

Cassandra glared at him, and the mage hastily sat back, taking a sip of his wine to cover his retreat. She returned her stare to Evelyn. “Have you read it?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“So you know what it says.” The Seeker shifted on her feet. “I… tell me that I am mistaken.” She wouldn’t look at Evelyn, eyes intent on her boots; but there was a hopeful quality to her posture, suggesting that though she was prepared for the worst, she was still wishing for the best. Evelyn couldn’t help but smile in response.

“It’s not a mistake, Cassandra,” she replied.

“It must be.”

“Why?”

“Because, this-!” The Seeker broke off with a frustrated huff. She paused, gathering her thoughts for a moment. “This is not the sort of thing that happens to people like me,” she said finally.

“People like you?” Dorian interjected. “Whatever does that mean?”

Evelyn waved for the mage to be quiet; he shot her an affronted look, but quieted nonetheless. “Cassandra, this is real,” she said quietly. She took her friend’s hand and guided her to a nearby chair; the Seeker looked as if she needed a seat. “It’s not a joke.”

“Are you sure?”

Cassandra’s voice was small, hesitant. Evelyn reached into a pocket and took out the letter Varric had written to her; she’d shoved it there earlier, forgotten until now. She handed the paper to her friend, urging her to read it. Cassandra’s warm brown eyes flew over the page; she paused when she neared the end, and looked back up at Evelyn in surprise.

“‘My biggest fan’?” she repeated. “Is that me?”

“Well, it certainly isn’t _me_ ,” Dorian muttered. Evelyn kicked him under the table.

“Of course it’s you!” she said to Cassandra. “Who else could it be?”

“I am sure he has many admirers.”

“Oh, probably,” Evelyn agreed. “But how many of them have gotten exclusive copies of chapters before they’re published? And not once, but twice?” She shook her head. “Varric doesn't do that for just anyone, you know. He's talking about you, Cassandra.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

The letter in the Seeker’s hand slowly drifted down to the table as Cassandra considered its implications. Her eyes flicked over to the manuscript. “Then… Andromeda… she is-”

“You,” Dorian agreed. “Though with decidedly fewer names.”

“Is that how he sees me? I thought…”

Cassandra didn't have to finish her sentence for Evelyn to guess at her thoughts. For a long time, the Seeker had thought that Varric hated her. She’d taken him prisoner, interrogated him, and attempted to make him give up the location of his best friend, in hiding from the world after the incident at the Kirkwall Chantry. She’d manhandled him, accused him of lying, and almost forbidden him from helping the Inquisition’s cause because of her distrust. And to make her guilt all the deeper, Varric had ended up being the staunchest of allies, using his clout as a famous author and a member of the Merchant's Guild to win them numerous contracts and mercantile alliances. 

The two of them had settled into an uneasy relationship over the course of the war with Corypheus. Slowly, Cassandra had learned to trust Varric, and Varric had come to see that Cassandra wasn’t quite the person she’d once seemed. They’d been able to unite against the threat that had loomed over them, and had made a very good team. Evelyn would even have labeled them friends towards the end of the war. And now... well, it didn't take a trained observer to notice that their uneasy friendship had led to romantic attraction. 

But still, Cassandra doubted.

It was hard for her to put aside all of the terrible things she had done to Varric. It was hard for her to see that Varric really did care for her, even now.

Evelyn squeezed Cassandra’s hand in her own. “Cass, you have to know how he feels about you,” she said gently. She used her free hand to tap the manuscript that lay abandoned between them. “You know that this is real.”

“Even after all that I have done?”

Dorian snorted, and the two women turned to look at him. Evelyn shot him a warning glance, telling him silently not to mess this up. He pointedly ignored her. “My dear Cassandra,” he said, “I have read numerous, fantastically romantic love letters in my time, many of them addressed to myself. But I can sincerely say that I have _never_ seen one quite so endearing and disgustingly saccharine as this.” He motioned first to the manuscript and then to the letter in the Seeker's hands. “This is not the work of a man who merely tolerates your existence. Nor it is the work of a man who only wishes to worm his way into your bed. This is the work of a man who _loves_ you." Evelyn nodded in agreement. 

"I... It seems too good to be true."

"Believe it," Evelyn replied. "It's happening."

Cassandra gave her a shy smile, and Evelyn knew she'd managed to convince the other woman of the situation - even if only for the moment.

“Have you had any word from him?” Cassandra asked. “Anything other this?” She held up the letter. "It would be good to see him again."

“I'm sorry, Cass. But no. There's been nothing.”

Her face falling a bit, the Seeker nodded and rose to her feet. “I didn’t think so. Thank you,” she said. She blushed, and added, “For listening to me.”

“Of course, Cass,” Evelyn replied. “You can always come to me. You know that.”

“It is not that,” the other woman said, shaking her head. “I trust you. But I am not used to having someone to confide in. Not like this.” She picked the manuscript back up and held it close to her chest. “I will take my leave.”

Evelyn waited until she was out of earshot before turning to Dorian. The mage had an eager grin on his face. “She figured it out,” he said, taking another drink of wine. “I’m pleasantly surprised!”

“She’s not stupid, Dorian,” Evelyn reminded him. 

“Not at all!” he replied. “But you must admit, my dear, that whether or not she _acted_ upon her instincts is an entirely different matter. I was half-concerned she'd squash the book in a drawer somewhere and never speak of it again.”

She snorted, but couldn’t deny that she’d had similar doubts. “I’m just glad that we don’t have to explain it to her,” she said.

Dorian raised his glass to her. “Thank the Maker for small mercies.”

*

Cassandra leaned back against the door to her quarters, sagging against it in relief.

She wasn’t imagining things. It was about her. Varric had written about her – _to_ her.

She had needed a second opinion, someone else to tell her that she wasn’t just seeing what she wanted to see. A part of her could not believe that this was real; this was the sort of thing that happened in fairy tales. And the past year had certainly proven that she was not living in a storybook.

But… it was real. It was true. Varric loved her.

 _Love._   _Her._  

"Maker's breath," she whispered, the curse sounding strange on her lips even now. 

“Are you going to keep standing there, or will you come in and join me?”

Cassandra’s head snapped up at the drawling, unfamiliar voice. Her eyes focused on the woman sitting on her bed, narrowing when she saw who it was. Isabela – Varric’s friend; Evelyn had pointed her out earlier. “What are you doing here?” she asked coldly.

The woman smiled and patted the bed next to her. “Come here, kitten,” she said. “Let’s talk.”

“How did you get in here?” Cassandra demanded, not moving an inch from where she stood. “I locked the door!”

“Of course you did. And I picked your lock.”

Cassandra scowled in irritation.

Isabela only smiled in return. “Don’t make that face, kitten,” she chuckled. “It makes me think that you don’t like me.”

“I don’t,” Cassandra snapped.

“Aw.” The pirate touched a hand to her breast, right over where her heart lay. “That hurts.”

Cassandra took a few steps into the room, setting the manuscript down before returning her full attention to Isabela. “I will only ask you one more time, pirate: what do you want?”

“You say ‘pirate’ like it’s a bad thing,” Isabela said flatly.

“It is an illegal trade!”

“It’s only illegal if you get caught,” the other woman retorted. “But as you wish. I’m not here to talk about my morally ambiguous business operations. I only wish to discuss a certain mutual friend of ours. Well. He’s _my_ friend.” She grinned. “I hear he’s a little more than that to you.”

Cassandra blushed at the open insinuation in Isabela’s voice. “We are not romantically involved,” she said stiffly. It was the truth, after all – one kiss did not a relationship make.

“Don’t be bashful!” Isabela said, winking. “You’ve gotten more from him than I ever have. And it’s certainly not from a lack of trying.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Nothing has happened between us.”

“…Yet.” Again, Isabela patted the bed. “Are you going to stand there all night?”

“If I have to.”

The pirate snorted. “He wasn’t kidding about how stubborn you were,” she said. “Suit yourself.” The laughter faded from her honey-brown eyes then. “Let's get down to it. Varric is a very dear friend of mine, one of my _only_ friends. I trust him implicitly, and that’s not something that I can say of very many people. For whatever reason, he likes you. I have to make sure you’re worthy of that affection.”

“Worthy?” Cassandra repeated. She raised an eyebrow at the other woman.

Isabela ignored her, openly scrutinizing her figure. “You’re certainly attractive,” she drawled. “Nevarra, yes?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You look different than I imagined you – much sharper.”

“Do I pass your inspection?” Cassandra snapped, unable to keep the peevishness out of her voice.

“We’ll see,” Isabela smirked. “So tell me – how did you manage to make Varric Tethras, mercantile master and bachelor extraordinaire fall in love with you? I have to say, I’m a little impressed. People have been trying for years.”

“Years?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t know,” the pirate snapped, waving a hand. “He's had to have more than one talk with the City Guard of Kirkwall about restraining orders against certain fans of his.” She crossed her arms over her chest impatiently, looking up at Cassandra expectantly. "Now - how did get Kirkwall's major eligible bachelor to write you the love note of the ages?" 

“I… it did not happen on purpose.”

Isabela snorted. “It never does.”

Perhaps against her better judgment, Cassandra slowly began to tell Isabela how her relationship with Varric had unfolded. She left certain details out, of course, and the pirate already seemed to know much of the story from Varric. But though she needled her for the details, Isabela never once made any sort of judgment. It was... surprising, to say the least. She had assumed the Rivaini woman had come to her for gossip, salacious details of their as-of-yet nonexistent conjugal relationship. But maybe not. Perhaps it had been wrong of her to assume that the pirate only wanted to meddle.

When Cassandra finished speaking, Isabela leaned back against the headboard of the bed and whistled softly. “Damn,” she said appreciatively. “I gotta say, I've heard a lot of love stories in my day. Pirates love 'em, don't let the dirty exterior fool you. But this?” She shook her head. "This takes the cake."

“The situation is… unusual,” Cassandra agreed.

That drew a wry snort from the other woman. “Oh, it’s not just unusual,” she replied. “It’s downright amazing.” She tilted her head to the side. “Tell me, have you ever heard him speak of Bianca?”

“The crossbow, or the woman?”

“So you _do_ know her.”

“I met her once,” Cassandra said stiffly, recalling the encounter with Varric’s ex-lover with a touch of distaste. She had disliked how flippant the dwarf had been about the situation with the red lyrium, and how she’d threatened the Inquisitor were Varric to get hurt. It was not her place to say such things. But Cassandra had said nothing, silently disapproving all the way back to Skyhold. As much as it had been wrong of Bianca to give that mage the key to Valammar, it would have been wrong for Cassandra to talk to Varric about something that wasn’t her business. She'd avoided the topic ever since, not daring ask the questions that still bothered her. 

“Am I detecting a bit of bad blood?” Isabela asked, the corners of her lips turning up into a smirk.

“No,” Cassandra snapped, scowling. “I do not like her, but that has nothing to do with Varric.”

“Well, that makes two of us then,” Isabela replied. She sighed heavily. “I’ve heard bits and snippets about her over the years. Had to put together the facts of their relationship myself. I can't say I like her much. But the truth is, he loved her, and he loved her hard. Varric isn’t the type of person to do anything half-assed. But when she married the other dwarf…” She shook her head. “It’s taken him a long time to get over her. And I’m still not sure he’ll ever be entirely over her. You never forget a love like that.”

Cassandra shifted uncomfortably. Why was Isabela telling her this? What was the point?

The pirate fixed her with a pointed stare then. “But you’re different,” she said. “I’ve never seen him act with this way before, not even when he was talking about Bianca. There’s something about you that speaks to him. You've managed to reach him despite the distance he likes to create in his relationships. Don't you ever forget that - don't take it for granted. _You_ made him feel this way; I doubt anyone else ever will.”

A pleased tingle settled in Cassandra’s limbs at the words, and she had to fight to keep a straight face. “Truly?” she asked, slightly fearful that the other woman was joking with her.

“He wrote you into a book,” Isabela said flatly. “If that’s not a sign of a lovesick fool, I don’t know what is. But let me tell you this.” She pointed a finger in Cassandra’s direction. “If you ever do anything to hurt him, anything at all, I will personally see you dismembered bit by bit.” She smiled sweetly. “Is that clear?”

The threat was unnecessary. Varric was perfectly capable of defending himself, and Cassandra certainly had no plans to harm him. Still, she nodded at the other woman, understanding the need to protect a dear friend.

“Of course.”

*

Two months.

He couldn’t believe it.

He’d actually managed to churn out the entire tale of the Inquisition. And in a relatively short amount of time too! Of course, he also felt like he could fall asleep at any moment, but it was worth it. It was finished.

Varric had gone out and bought a bottle of the finest Antivan brandy that he could find in celebration. It was sitting on his desk now, the warm brown liquid heady and fragrant. He poured himself a small glass and took a sip, appreciating the fiery burn as it slipped down his throat. “Ah,” he breathed, kicking his feet up. _This_ was much better than hunching over a desk, writing by candlelight in the dark hours of the evening as the nightlife of Kirkwall roared around him. 

He took another sip.

He was leaving come morning, having already booked passage on a ship to Denerim. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Kirkwall; the city was his home. He even liked it most of the time. But it could also be very, very stifling, and it wasn’t nearly as much fun without Hawke. 

Yes, it was time to get away for a bit. Before they came back to hound him about taking over the Viscount's position. He'd nearly laughed in their faces at that one - politics?  _Him_ _?_

He reached across the table then and picked up the book that lay there. A dark-haired heroine – with an appropriately sized bosom for once – was on the cover, a bow in one hand and the other blazing green fire as she stood in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The title was emblazoned across the top in a curling, silvery font. It was rather nice, if he did say so himself.

He would take a copy back to Tits. His editor had insisted upon it. Personally, Varric thought the man was hoping the book would move her so much that she’d be willing to help him with marketing the book, maybe do some signed copies. He’d told the man that the Inquisitor would be far too busy to go to fancy tea parties autographing things, but he’d been ignored. As usual.

He was looking forward to seeing Tits’ reaction. She’d probably be embarrassed and try to shake it off, but he knew she’d read it. Eventually. Probably when she was very, very drunk.

But if he was truthful with himself, there was something else in Skyhold that he was looking forward to seeing even more. Someone else. He set his empty glass down, eyes shifting to the other book on the table of their own accord. He eyed the dark heroine; she was crouched into a fighting stance, sword and shield upraised as she was beset by her enemies from all sides. The second chapter of _Romance in Riposte_ had been published just last week. It had been heavily edited since he’d sent the manuscript off with Isabela, of course, but the essence of the chapter remained the same.

Still… he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d understood his intentions.

He hadn’t heard from Skyhold since. It wasn’t unusual; the Inquisition was very busy restoring order, and even with Corypheus vanquished, there was still a lot of shit to clean up. Naturally, it fell to Tits and her crew of misfits – or what remained of them, anyways – to maintain order. She didn’t have a lot of time to spend writing letters, and he doubted she would bother Ruffles with this kind of thing. Surely the diplomat had her own duties to attend.

It would have nice to get an update though.

Varric snorted and reached over to pour himself another glass of brandy.

He really needed to get to Skyhold.

This anticipation couldn’t be good for his health.

"Soon," he murmured, turning his head to look out the window. The sun was just setting, sending brilliant rays of light across the waves of the Waking Sea. It was beautiful, something straight out of a painting. He raised his glass to the window, silently toasting what lay across its waters before taking a long drink. His eyes watered and his throat screamed in protest, but he forced himself to finish the glass before setting it back down with a hollow clink. 

"I'm coming." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and sticking with me through the month long break! :)
> 
> Just a few more chapters now... 
> 
> ... and kissy scenes next chapter? Maybe? :o


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